Saving the Fox IV: En la sequedad del estío
by Therrae
Summary: It had been five months without rain in a year that was already dry. The well in the courtyard gave up only mud. The only creek still running narrowed to a stinking bog. Worst of all, as the land withered Diego's strength seemed to drain away as well.
1. June 18, 1813

_The title was given to us by Senselesswords. I am very grateful for the care she took with it. It is absolutely lovely! Thank you._

_Warnings for occasional foul language, angst, and medical theory that is 200 years out of date._

_Finally, as always, thanks to Pam, without whose patient transcripts no fanfic would be possible for months and months._

**June 18, 1813**

The fight started when Don Carlos stopped by to see if Don Alejandro's odd sheep had arrived. They had, two ewes and a ram, but before going out to admire the funny-looking things, they had to have a glass of wine and some little cakes in the parlor. When Don Carlos mentioned that the northbound coach had been robbed the evening before and that everyone was sure it was the same bandits who'd robbed the Russians, Gilberto had flashed a brief, sly smile, and Diego had snapped the quill he was holding.

They quarreled invisibly for the next ten minutes, Gilberto asking apparently idle questions about the crime and Diego apparently correcting Felipe's mathematics assignment. Intermittently they caught each other's eyes, and Gilberto would look frustrated and Diego would bristle with anger and dig the new quill into the page.

When Don Alejandro and Don Carlos finally went outside to the paddock where the new sheep were temporarily housed, the quarrel came into the open. "You were feverish two days ago. So far we've avoided a serious infection, but if you re-open that cut-"

"It is a very small cut-"

"It's deep."

"And it's not in a place where I'll pull on it while riding. I'll be fine."

Diego stood up. "No. The hills are crawling with lancers searching for the bandits."

"And they won't find them. They don't have a decent tracker among them."

"They aren't as good as you. That doesn't mean they are imbeciles. And you are as likely to find lancers as the bandits."

"Now that's just insulting."

"'Berto, it's too soon. You aren't healed. Don't do this."

Slowly, Gilberto closed the distance between them. Strangely-since he still had to look up slightly to meet his brother's eyes-it seemed as though they were the same height. "Can you at least pretend to have a little faith in me?"

Diego flinched, his breath catching. He started to retreat, but he was pinned by the chair. The only place to go was to sit down. "You know it isn't that," he whispered. "It's my own helplessness. I can't be there with you, and knowing you are _alone_..."

Gilberto laughed once. It was a weak, unhappy sound. He squatted down so that they were facing each other again. "Oh, I understand that, Little Brother. I've watched you fight alone for months. And I know it's hard. For our whole lives...we never _had_ to do anything alone. But this-this misplaced guilt of yours, it isn't helping me."

Diego didn't answer that.

"What I need you to do is take a good look at me-and see me, not all this fear of yours-and tell me the truth. Can I do this? Am I good enough to be Zorro? Tell me the truth. You believe in the truth. And if I'm not, we'll put the mask away and think of something else."

Diego swallowed.

"The truth. You always say the truth-"

"Yes," Diego whispered. "You are good enough."

"Then there's no reason to rip yourself apart."

Diego closed his eyes. "Felipe, go saddle the horse, please."

"Tell Father I'm out checking on the bees," he said over his shoulder as he preceded Felipe through the secret door.

When he was finished with Toronado, Felipe turned to Gilberto, who was fussing with the mask, trying to get it tight enough to stay in place without crushing his hair too badly. He knocked on the table for attention and asked, "You don't care about truth?"

"Oh. Well." Gilberto gave up on the mask and put his hat on. "Truth." He glanced narrowly at Felipe. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I'm not advocating ignoring reality or lying about it. But so often...so many things are true, and _other_ things are also true, and they are mutually exclusive, so 'truth' contradicts itself. I know it shouldn't be possible, but it's so. Worse, sometimes truth changes-I don't mean that you simply get more information and discover you were wrong, not always. I mean the world changes sometimes."

Suspiciously, Felipe asked, "Is that heresy?"

"Oh, probably. But I'll never _do _anything I'll have to confess because of it. That was a promise to Diego, which is far more powerful then mere truth." He ran his hands briefly over Toronado's flank. "You want to know about truth? All right, the sad part is, for most people the truth isn't very useful. They believe what they want to believe or what is easy to believe. Or whatever won't inconvenience them too badly."

"You have a very low opinion of human beings," Felipe said a little primly. Diego, he knew, did believe truth was valuable for its own sake.

The comment made Gilberto laugh. "Well...yes. I suppose. There are certainly a number of specific human beings I have a low opinion of." He made the sign Felipe had been using for the alcalde. "But most people are willing to believe all sorts of silly things. And we use that. You heard what Juan and Raul were saying about Zorro yesterday- He has the fastest horse that ever lived, he can't be wounded with regular bullets, it's accepted fact that he can fly and walk through walls. According to the neophytes at San Gabriel he speaks all human languages, after all they saw him speak to _Russians_," he snorted. "Absurd, all of it, but the myth is hobbling the lancers. Never mind how good I _actually_ am; they'll never catch Zorro because they believe they can't."

"Don't get arrogant," Felipe said, since Diego wasn't here to say it.

Gilberto laughed at that. "Thanks, kid, but I carry him in my head." He glanced away. "Get him to lie down for a while. He won't sleep, I know, but at least get him to rest..."

Felipe nodded. Last night had been a bad one. Diego had woken at midnight, panicked and gasping. Felipe had sat with him for over two hours before his racing heart had finally slowed. He'd woken again at dawn, unhappy and too restless to stay in bed, but clearly still tired.

He'd been tired all day, pale, dizzy more than once. Diego said it was just the unseasonable heat bothering him. And maybe that was true: he always seemed most comfortable in the cave where it was much cooler. It had no windows, and yet Diego had never once complained that it was 'close' or 'stifling' down there. Because Gilberto had been 'feeling unwell' (or rather recovering from having a sliver or rock removed from his leg) the last few days, though, Don Alejandro had been hovering about the house, which made it hard for Diego to get away.

Indeed, by the time Felipe returned to the parlor, Don Alejandro was already back from showing his friend the new sheep and seeing him off. He was sitting beside Diego shuffling though a small stack of envelopes. "Look. Tomas got the mail. Apparently the bandits only robbed the passengers and ignored the mail bag...Oh. Diego, one for you." He passed over an envelope.

Diego set down Felipe's philosophy essay and broke the seal. "It's from Father Benitez. Oh!" Diego smiled. "He's coming here. He's been assigned to the parish, now that Father Raphael is being promoted. Well, that's wonderful."

"Is this that dog-breeder friend of yours from Mexico City?"

Diego smiled slightly. "Bird-watcher," he corrected.

Don Alejandro looked slightly disappointed, but he was focused on a letter of his own. "Oh. Dog breeding might have been useful. Oh, look. Dona Isabella is looking to sell that prize bull. She's asking far too much, of course..." He wandered toward his office, muttering about stock bloodlines.

Felipe sat down across from Diego and waited until he'd finished reading the short letter. "I didn't know you were still writing him."

"Just a few times a year. I've never met him..."

"This is good then, that he's coming."

"Oh, yes. I'm very much looking forward to it. I'd send him a letter welcoming him, but I imagine he's already begun the journey." Diego took a deep breath. "Now, about this essay. Why did you bring in Astell's commentary on Descartes?"

Oh. Well. "I thought you would like it." Felipe shrugged.

Diego blinked. "Did you agree with it?"

Felipe wondered if this were a trick question. He didn't trust philosophy and he knew perfectly well that it didn't care if he agreed or not. "It doesn't matter what I think. Nobody is going to ask me."

"_I_ am asking you."

That was true, and Felipe wasn't entirely sure it was playing fair. Philosophy was something you proved you understood, not something people asked you to pretend you could pass judgment upon. "You'll be angry if I tell you. And that wasn't the assignment, anyway. So let's move on to the mathematics."

Diego eyed him like a chemistry experiment that was bubbling and steaming when it should just be changing color. "I promise I won't be angry. Tell me what you think."

"I think he's right...and knowledge _is_ really useful. But I think he makes it all too complicated." He folded his arms for a moment, then reluctantly continued. "Too many words. Maybe I'm just young," an excuse he hated using but since it was thrust on him so often, it was obviously believable, so maybe Diego would accept it let the matter go, "I think I don't need all those words about what is real and what's not. I need it to rain; the hillsides are going yellow too soon and the creek is low. And I need an alcalde who is competent and honest. I need-" _I need you to be well and safe._

Felipe dropped his eyes.

"Ah. Yes. Sometimes the necessities of daily living seem to crowd out abstract questions about what it all means. It's very hard to think big when the small problems overwhelm us."

"The small problems matter, too. They're real, and maybe _he_ can philosophy them away, but I can't."

Diego lifted the essay from the table and handed it back to him. "Do it again. This time make _that_ point."

Felipe looked dubiously at the paper.

Diego sighed. "I'll tell you a secret. I think you're probably misunderstanding the Descartes...but it's possible you have a valid point. I don't care. It's your rhetorical skills we're trying to improve. I want you to write me an essay of _what you think_. Exactly and completely what you think. Later on we'll talk about techniques for writing what you think someone wants to read." He smiled a little. "Not now. You worked hard enough this morning. Tomorrow will do."

"Come sit outside," Felipe urged. "Breeze. Shade."

Diego winced. "No. Oh, no. I'll sit and worry about him, and you'll sit and worry about me. Oh, I have a much better idea. This will be fun." Diego rose slowly and swayed, catching himself with a hand on the arm of the chair. Felipe reached for him, but was waved off. "No, it's all right." Diego took a deep breath, closing his eyes while he waited for the vertigo to pass. When he was ready, he walked over to the piano. "Bring that little chair and put it here," he said, moving the stool over.

Felipe felt a sharp bite of panic. The last time Diego had tried playing the piano he'd ended up collapsing. Felipe did not want to do that again. He glanced around, hoping Don Alejandro would come back-

Diego took the chair from his hands. "Stop panicking. I'm not playing, you are." He set the chair beside the stool.

"I can't!" Felipe signed. "I don't know how."

Diego sat in the chair and pointed at the stool. "Not yet," he agreed easily. "Trust me. This will be fun. Sit down."

Felipe sat.

Diego looked at him. "Mostly, it is a matter of practice. Playing the piano is a skill. It's learned. It's not mystical and it's certainly nothing to be nervous about."

Of course it was something to be nervous about. It was also ridiculous and stupid. Felipe could not do this. The idea would be funny if it weren't utterly terrifying.

Gently, Diego took Felipe's hands and guided them into position-and that was familiar, wasn't it? His whole life Diego had been guiding his hands. Felipe forced himself to breathe.

"Now, this key is a C. You strike by-" he stopped, glancing up from the keys to look into Felipe's eyes. "I'm going about this all wrong. You can't read music."

Felipe shrugged. Once, in fact, Diego had tried to explain sheet music. It had been years ago, in sign language, when Felipe had mostly forgotten music anyway. It hadn't made any sense.

There was music on the little stand. Diego opened it and pointed to the black and white pattern. "Music is written on a staff, these little lines. The dots show pitch-by how high and low they are on the lines-and duration or how long the note lasts-by the shape of the note. Do you follow? You read from left to right, like words on a page."

Felipe nodded uncertainly.

Diego pointed at the first black dot on the page. "This note goes with this key." He touched the piano and it came to life, spilling out a lovely tone.

There seemed to be hundreds of little dots on the page. One after another, fast, to make a song. Felipe felt a little ill.

Diego was continuing, one hand tracing a set of black does on the page, the other delicately tapping out a string of resonant sounds. "Think of the staff as a set of stairs or a ladder, and the notes go up and down...and you have no idea at all what I'm talking about. This is making no sense at all."

"I'm sorry!" Felipe signed at once.

Diego squeezed his shoulder, at the same time signing, "Don't worry," with his free hand.

Felipe tried not to look worried. He must have done a poor job of it, because Diego frowned deeply and said, "You're frightened, you're absolutely terrified. Felipe, why?"

He had no idea how to answer that, so he didn't try. Diego searched him with his eyes. He saw everything, and he was _thinking_, and he said, "Is there pain? In your head? In your ears?"

Vigorously, Felipe shook his head.

Diego leaned slightly closer. "Would you tell me, if there was?"

Felipe nodded firmly. He told Diego the truth, even when it was shameful, even when it got him into trouble. In the choice between punishment and losing Diego's trust, well there was no choice, was there? "I would tell you."

Diego frowned, still looking. "But you didn't tell anyone, did you? Before?"

Felipe really hoped that he didn't understand what Diego was asking. He closed his eyes, but of course, when you could hear that didn't stop people from continuing conversations you didn't like. And, as always, Diego was way too smart for anyone else's convenience. "There _was_ pain, and you didn't go to anyone."

He had to nod, although Diego didn't need the confirmation. He continued relentlessly. "And it was bad," he said.

Felipe shook his head.

"Felipe."

"It _wasn't_ bad. It just...wouldn't go away."

"How long?"

Felipe didn't know. "Days?" Probably longer.

"When was this?"

Felipe wasn't sure. For a long time he'd been uncomfortable and worried with an endless ache at the back of his head. And then everything had gone completely mad. "Last spring, sometime," he said.

"It probably started in the middle of March," Don Alejandro said. He was standing beside the writing desk. Felipe hadn't heard him arrive. "Looking back afterward, I could see that he'd been behaving oddly for a few weeks...but this is the first I've heard of any pain."

"Weeks." Diego dropped his eyes and took the deep breath that he took when he was choosing to stay calm. Felipe hoped it was anger he was dismissing and not disappointment. "'We've had a bit of drama here. Felipe has begun to hear loud noises. The house was in quite an uproar, initially, but things have settled down, now, and his hearing has improved steadily over the last few days.'"

"You weren't here. I didn't want to worry you or get your hopes too high too soon. How could I tell you..."

"You could give me a few more details now. Either of you."

Don Alejandro sat down and considered them both for a long moment before saying, "The first I knew anything was wrong...he didn't return from his morning chores. The whole house turned out to search for him. Little Pepe finally found him in the hayloft, completely..."

He'd been completely panicked, sure he was dying or going mad or his head was about to explode. The solid, almost physical buffeting that seemed to burst from within his own mind-he hadn't recognized it as sound. It was nothing like his memory. It had been harsh and chaotic and impossible to think through.

"I don't blame him for hiding. I've never seen anyone so afraid. It must have terrible, there was no way to get away from it. Although," here he glanced at Felipe and smiled sadly, "hiding in the barn where one of the mares was in heat was probably not the most fortunate choice."

Felipe closed his eyes. He felt slightly ill. That was probably embarrassment. This story wasn't going to get any better.

"After you found him?"

"I sent for the doctor. We thought he was ill. The doctor couldn't find anything, though. He examined him three times and then...I'd stayed with them to translate, not that Felipe would talk to us at all. And then Emmanuel dropped something and Felipe flinched and I realized he was shaking when we_ talked_. It just hadn't occurred to me...Anyway, it took half an hour to explain what was happening. Even then, I'm not sure he believed me. I know he didn't sleep for two days."

Felipe wondered if it would help to apologize, or if he should just look amused at what an idiot he'd been.

Very quietly, Diego said, "Thank you."

"Son...I never talked to him about music. I never though of it. He showed no special interest, and there was so much else...It was days before he could understand what we _said_..."

Diego nodded, digesting that, watching Felipe. "Do you dislike music?" he asked.

No. Oh, no! Or not always, anyway. Felipe shrugged and shook his head.

Diego, watching his reaction, smiled gently. "Well, that was resoundingly ambivalent. What can you tell me about music?"

Felipe shrugged.

Diego squeezed his shoulder. "I need _some_ information if I'm going to help you. I can't guess this. I can't imagine..."

Something. "It's pretty. It's...exciting."

Diego smiled an agreement. "Oh, yes. Isn't it?"

"It's too big. I can't think it properly." And then he blushed, because that seemed a really stupid thing to say.

To his surprise Diego nodded as though that had made perfect sense. "Can you think this properly?" He touched a glossy key with his finger and a firm, warm sound floated out.

Felipe nodded.

Diego touched two keys. This sound was very sweet and made him shiver.

"Too big?"

Felipe shook his head. "Beautiful. Like a dream."

"That's called a harmony. Hmmm. What if I ask you...is this sound different than...this one? Which one was higher?"

Felipe wasn't sure. They were both pretty, but they had been similar, and he couldn't hold on to them.

"Close your eyes. Good. Now, we're going to play a game. I'm going to play two notes, and you are going to identify the higher one. All right? I think music won't seem so impossibly 'big' if you can better identify the individual sounds."

It felt like they played the game for years. With his eyes shut, the notes seemed to dance straight into the center of his head. Sweet notes and slicing notes and notes that made him sigh. One, fairly low, that felt like Diego's voice. And one, lower than that, that rang through the air like anger. When Diego finally touched his shoulder and said, "Enough," Felipe felt like his whole body was a piano.

When he looked up he found Diego and his father looking at one another sadly. They were doing the trick the twins usually did with each other-having a conversation without actually talking. "What's wrong?" He tugged Diego's shoulder. "What is it?"

"I should have done this sooner," Diego said. "I didn't...I'm sorry, I didn't think." He was apologizing to Felipe, which just wasn't good.

"What's wrong?"

With his left hand, Diego reached out and ran his fingers over the far keys, counting up one, two, three, four, five of them. "You aren't hearing these. I think you might be feeling the vibrations, but you're not hearing them with your ears...and you've lost most of the highest octave, although you can hear D and E if I hit them hard enough."

Felipe glanced down at the keyboard. He didn't know the notes by name, if you could call giving them letters_ names_, but he knew he wasn't hearing them properly.

Diego swallowed. "Father said you could hear birds. I didn't realize...not _all_ of them?"

Don Alejandro, who had been watching, rose abruptly and retreated to the window.

Felipe shrugged. "If I heard more birds, I'd never get any sleep. It's never quiet anywhere..."

"No, it wouldn't be..." Diego dropped his eyes, and Felipe suddenly realized what they had been silently talking about.

"Hey!" Felipe slapped his shoulder for attention and started over. "Hey. Don't you sit there and feel sorry for me. I hear music. I hear you talk to me. So-stop it."

Don Alejandro snorted. "Well, he's put you in your place, son."

Diego's smile didn't reach his eyes, but Felipe appreciated the effort. "As you say. Back to the lesson: you're actually doing very well. You've made progress already. Next we'll concentrate on having you identify large and small intervals. We'll have to wait until you get the knack of listening to music before we can start on reading sheet music. But that's all right. There isn't a particular hurry-"

"Then you can stop for today," Don Alejandro cut in. "The child is so tired I think his eyes are crossing and..." he paused for a moment. "Come sit over here. Put your feet up. You've been busy all morning."

"And all of it sitting down, Father. It's hardly been a taxing day." But he let Don Alejandro balance him as he stood up.

Felipe ran a single finger along the fronts of the keys. They were impossibly smooth. He closed the keyboard cover. The little tap it made was quiet and resonant. Could Diego do it? Teach him music?

Could music be coherent? For him? He would never sing, of course, but...he might learn to play something simple. To make music...

When he looked up, Diego was sitting in the armchair, his feet up. He had a book in his lap, but the way his head was angled, Felipe guessed he'd be asleep soon. And that was good. Felipe felt a little satisfaction, though he could hardly take credit. Diego had distracted and tired himself...

Don Alejandro motioned him into the hall. Felipe went at once. Hoping to avoid another serious conversation, he quickly offered, "I should go check the roses. They'll need water."

Don Alejandro shook his head. "I'll do it. Felipe-I don't know if you enjoyed that at all."

Felipe shrugged. It was difficult, but no worse than geometry. And maybe, someday, if he did learn to make sense of it, it might even be...wonderful.

"If you can bear it...I'd appreciate it if you'd continue. Diego...I think he'd like very much to share this with you, and..."

Felipe nodded at once. Of course he would continue. Even if it had been unbearable, he would not have refused to learn something Diego had decided to teach him. When Felipe had been about eight, he'd balked at division. The resulting fight-in which Diego had been reasonable and kind and Felipe had been, in retrospect, a complete brat-was still something he was embarrassed about. Never mind that Diego was usually right about everything, including skills other people _needed _to have, Felipe's pride wouldn't risk balking at something and losing the fight.

Don Alejandro nodded soberly. "Thank you." He looked like he might want to say something else, but he only sighed and looked away. "I should check the roses."

Felipe retrieved the Descartes from the library and sat down at the writing desk. He read the assignment again, this time making a list in his head of all the things he didn't like about it. Possibly...Diego would be completely appalled. But he always said that students made mistakes. Correcting Felipe's appalling ideas would give him something to do, anyway.

Or maybe he would think Felipe was joking. That had happened twice already with his historical summaries.

Diego dozed in the chair until Gilberto returned over two hours later. He swept across from the library practically strutting, his heels taping on the tile floor. He glanced around to make sure he was unobserved and practically crowed, "Got them!" Smugly, he held up three fingers. "Sent them down to the patrol tied across their saddles with large 'Z's carved into their shirts." He bowed.

Felipe signed, "You're amazing!"

It had not been a compliment. Gilberto showed he understood that by ruffling Felipe's hair in the most patronizing way possible and laughing.

Diego smiled as well, but not at the joke. He said, "I would have liked to have seen it."

Sobering suddenly, Gilberto swallowed hard. "Thank you." He stepped nearer. "How are you feeling?"

"I have no complaints. Now come, sit beside me. I want to hear every detail."

~tbc


	2. March 3, 1808

_So, apparently, the whole cowboy thing? Spanish. Who knew? I mean, you'd think words like rodeo and lariat and buckaroo and so forth would have been a dead giveaway..._

**March 3, 1808 **

It was getting late. Down in the ravine, the rocks and gnarled trees were cast in shadows. Gilberto shaded his eyes and peered down into the pockets of darkness, but no. This cow was the last of them. He brought his horse up behind her, hurrying her along, but she was slow and pregnant-looked almost ready to drop, in fact-and wouldn't be rushed up the slope.

Felipe was waiting at the top, nervously watching the pair of heifers Gilberto had already rousted. Gilberto signaled him to follow, but stay to the left, and turned the three animals toward the shallow valley where the round-up was gathering. Very quickly, they joined up with three of Don Carlos' vaqueros and a couple of hundred animals.

To the west the sun was already down past the tops of the trees. There was time to get this little herd in before dark, though. Gilberto leaned up in the saddle. He could see a little dust in the distance. That would be Diego and Juan-and no small number of cattle, by the look of it.

When he looked back at the flowing wave of animals moving along side him he felt a stab of shock. Diego's shadow was off his horse, squatting on the ground, one hand pressed flat against the dirt.

Gilberto's horse darted forward even before he finished taking in the sight. The boy felt him coming and began to rise, making it all that much easier to snatch him from behind and throw him across the saddle. Gilberto slowed and made another pass, taking the reins of the short mustang the boy had been riding. He checked the position of the herd, the vaqueros, and put a few more yards between them.

The boy twisted to glare up at him, but he was scared enough that he didn't struggle. When they were a safe distance away, Gilberto shoved him off and signed, "Stay on your horse! What is wrong with you?"

The boy scrambled to his feet, started to protest. "I was only-"

"I know what you were doing. It doesn't matter! These aren't milk cows! They would trample you without even noticing." Gilberto paused to breathe. Somewhere in there he'd stopped signing and started yelling, neither of which was helpful for anything. "You stay on your horse. You stay behind me. My God, you take enough of his time as it is, we don't need you hurt." He pointed at the horse and turned his own mount away. If he kept looking at the boy, he'd just keep yelling. He waited until he'd heard him mount up and then led the way to a position at the rear of the herd.

~tbc


	3. July 25, 1813

**July 25, 1813**

It had been five months without rain in a year that was already dry. The well in the back courtyard of the de le Vega hacienda gave up only mud. The only creek that didn't run dry narrowed to a stinking bog that had to be dug out to make watering holes for the stock. In the cave the little drip of water still filled a bucket set into the niche Gilberto had chiseled out, but that was barely enough water for Toronado. The hillsides turned to a lifeless gold a full month too soon. Don Alejandro's beautiful roses first wilted and then browned. The crops stunted, and the dons began cutting out the oldest cattle.

Worst of all, as the land withered Diego's strength seemed to drain away as well. It was only in the cave that he showed any animation at all, and even there he was frequently breathless and always pale. In the house proper he spent most of his time sitting quietly, reading or doing absolutely nothing at all.

Diego denied anything was particularly wrong. He'd been living with the inconvenience of his illness for most of a year now; feeling a little tired was hardly new or worrisome. Besides, he said, it was the summer heat that was so hard to bear. No clouds, no rain, no _peace_. Oppressive heat was no cause for alarm, was it?

Felipe didn't find that thought particularly helpful: they were barely through July, and there was no guarantee that August and September would be any better. Two more months of this?

And he had to wonder: did Diego think Felipe hadn't _noticed_ that he was increasing the dosage of his medication? Did he forget that Felipe could count? Fifteen drops of _digitalis_ at a time now, and he was adding _aconitum, _Spiritus Etheris Nitrosi,

and something called 'cinchona.' The list of medicines was getting longer, and Felipe couldn't see that they were helping all that much.

But if Diego was going to pretend that everything was normal, Felipe wasn't going to make a fuss about it. Somehow, they managed to get through the long, hot days. Early mornings, when it was cool and windy, were best. After a bad night, Diego took to rising early and sitting outside in the breeze. On mornings he felt stronger, Diego and Felipe would join Gilberto and Tomas who took the wagon into the pueblo to get drinking water from the fountain in the square. That particular morning, Juan rode in with them as well to speak with the blacksmith.

The cheerful little party sobered as they entered the town and realized just how long the line was around the fountain. The de le Vegas weren't the only ones who had brought a wagon full of barrels.

Senorita Victoria and one of the girls who worked for her in the morning were close to the head of the line. Seeing them, Senorita Victoria left her bucket with the girl and came over. "It almost makes me wish I lived in San Francisco," she said ruefully.

Diego smiled at her. "San Francisco does indeed have two things we sorely lack: an abundance of water and cooler weather."

She laughed aloud at that. "Three things. They also have a good-natured alcalde."

"Shame we can't convince them to trade him, at least. The weather would be difficult to ship by coach. "

Suddenly, the cuartel doors were shoved open and a line of lancers marched out. Surprised, the waiting crowd looked up and for a moment went quiet.

A couple of corporals pushed into the crowd yelling, "Make way for the Alcalde! Out of the way!" The soldiers spread through the crowd and surrounded the fountain. Some people seemed to interpret this as line jumping and began to protest. Others, eyeing the guns, stepped back with varying degrees of resentment and fear.

Senorita Victoria peered through the crowd, looking for something. When she found it, she strode forward. She reached the Alcalde just as he stepped up on the rim of the fountain and began to wave for quiet. "Señor Alcalde, if your men want water, they should wait in line like the rest of us."

Ramón looked down on her with barely concealed contempt. "My men are not here to refresh themselves, Señorita." He held up a piece of paper. "In a desert country like this, water is liquid gold. Yet some of you have been using this precious asset extravagantly. I hereby decree a state of emergency for the duration of this drought. One bucket of water per person per week."

Felipe's mouth dropped open. A person couldn't live on so little water, and some people were also using the fountain to stretch their supplies for fruit trees or livestock. Around him people began a rumble of murmurs. Shocked. Angry. Afraid. Felipe stepped backward, pressing against the solid wood of the wagon.

He didn't realize Diego had moved until he was standing beside Victoria. "That is ridiculous," he said impatiently. "Now you know that's inadequate. What about the farmers?"

The alcalde smiled sweetly, a sight that set Felipe's own teeth on edge. "Fortunately, your government is able to respond to this problem. For the duration of the current crisis, you may buy water in excess of the regulations at the rate of fifty centavos per bucket, four pesos per barrel."

The wave of shock that followed that was nearly palpable. _Pay_ for water? And dear Saint Mary, what a price! Who could pay it besides the wealthiest ranchos? The small farms would be bankrupt in a week at that price, and many of the townspeople as well.

"You-you have no right," Senorita Victoria said a little desperately. "This well is not military property."

He blinked mildly at her. "Alas, necessity brings hard choices. I have declared an emergency. It is my responsibility to safeguard and fairly distribute our resources. Rationing and conservation are required if we are to survive this drought." He smiled slowly, his eyes drifting across the armed lancers surrounding the well. "It's for the good of the pueblo."

"This fountain has never gone dry," she protested. "There is enough water for everyone."

"This is extortion," Diego said flatly. "You think you can exploit the desperation of the people, but you are greatly underestimating it. If you persist in this, you may have an uprising on your hands. Reconsider while you still have time."

"An uprising? And who will be their leader? You, Don Diego?" The alcalde was taunting now, clearly amused.

Diego didn't seem to even notice the offense. "No, of course, not," he said impatiently. "I'm simply warning you: you are going too far this time, and you will regret it."

The alcalde nodded. "Your warning is duly noted." He turned to Sergeant Mendoza. "Arrest him."

The shocked silence that filled the plaza lasted three whole seconds before Mendoza choked, "Arrest Don Diego? Why?"

"Sedition, inciting a riot, threatening a government official, and slander. If he's not on his way to the jail in five seconds, you will be joining him, Mendoza."

Mendoza gaped a second more and then swallowed hard. "Yes, Alcalde. Um. I'm sorry, Don Diego."

Diego-impossibly-nodded politely. "It's quite all right, Sergeant. Lead the way."

Calmly, he followed Mendoza toward the cuartel gates.

Felipe looked around. Everyone was standing, shocked, silent. No one was going to do anything. Frantic, Felipe started forward.

A strong arm caught him from behind. Felipe squirmed, saw Gilberto's expressionless face for just a moment before he was pushed into the old Juan's strong hands. "Hold him," Gilberto snapped, before striding over to the alcalde. He laid a polite hand on Senorita Victoria's arm before edging her out of the way. "In the absence of a magistrate, Alcalde, you are empowered to set bail. I assume it will be very high." His voice was hard, like rocks pounding together.

Diego had already disappeared into the fort. Felipe's fingernails dug into his palms painfully.

The alcalde smiled. The smile reached his eyes, transforming his face and making him look almost benevolent. "I could not possibly allow bail for such a dangerous criminal. He's a direct threat to public order."

Taking Senorita Victoria's arm, Gilberto turned his back on the alcalde and walked toward the wagon. Ramone chuckled at his rudeness. It didn't seem to bother him.

Gilberto patted Tomas' arm. "Take the wagon. Go to Don Sebastian and tell him what has happened here." He took a couple of pesos from his pocket and handed it to Juan. "Rent a couple of horses at the livery. Ride one to Don Carlos. I'll take the other to fetch Father." He drew Felipe forward, out of Juan's strong grip. "You'll stay here in town. Watch everything. Stay out of the way-"

"You stay here. I can't do anything. I'll go for Don Alejandro!"

Gilberto sighed. "Felipe, you cannot stop my father from getting out his dueling pistols and shooting Luis Ramone through the head." He laughed once, bitterly. "I'm not sure _I _can stop him, and by God I don't _want_ to. But things are bad enough, don't you think, without Father taking on the entire garrison by himself?"

Felipe nodded to show he understood.

"Don't try to do anything. Just watch. We have to think. All right?" He glanced widened to include the two vaqueros. "Above all, Diego would want us to _think_. And he'll give us all hell if we go and do something stupid. Well? Get to it!" He motioned Tomas to take the wagon and go.

In the plaza, soldiers began to move the line forward. One bucket per person. One of the corporals stood by with a list, taking down names.

Gilberto turned to Victoria. "It us usual to allow family to bring food to the prisoners. You might be able to get in to speak to him, if you have a customary excuse...if you do get a chance to see him, do ask what in God's name he was thinking, hmmmm?"

Timidly, she reached out and patted his arm. "Don Gilberto. We will...we will get him out. Even if the alcalde could resist the bail he could afford...Don Alejandro is too powerful. The alcalde isn't a fool. Surely." But she glanced fearfully at the fountain as she said it. "It can't...He can't..."

Gilberto's knuckles were white from restraining his temper. "Thank you," he said politely. Juan appeared with the rented horses then, and he mounted and rode off without another word.

Felipe glanced around. He'd been told to keep watch. How and over what, he wasn't sure, but with one last sad look at Senorita Victoria, he sat down on the woodpile stacked beside the drygoods store. It was out of the way and had a good view of the cuartel. Not that he could see anything.

Gilberto was gone nearly three hours. As the minutes ticked by Felipe remembered that Don Alejandro had ridden out that morning. Gilberto would have had to search the west pasture for him, maybe all the way to the inlet.

Don Sebastian arrived with nine vaqueros. Don Carlos, though he was coming from further away and had a much smaller holding, arrived shortly afterward with nearly as many men. Both groups calmly tied their horses and went into the tavern. Felipe, sweating a little as the morning grew hotter, tried not to mentally count the pistols. Two groups fighting it out in the tight confines of the plaza, it would be a bloodbath. And Don Alejandro hadn't even arrived yet.

Don Roberto arrived. He had only two of his own men with him, but he was joined by several small farmers, including Jose Macias. Oh, this was the last thing Diego wanted. He would send all these people home.

Don Alejandro arrived at last, dressed for a day on the range rather than a trip to the pueblo. He was followed by Gilberto and half a dozen of the de le Vega men. He glanced at the horses tied in the plaza, the guards around the fountain, the few people who braved the tension in town to come get water. With a gesture he sent the others into the tavern to wait and stalked into the alcalde's office alone.

Gilberto collected Felipe with a glance. Well? His eyes asked. "Nothing," Felipe signed. "Nothing has changed. Nothing has happened."

Senorita Victoria greeted them as they stepped through the door. "I couldn't see him," she said softly. "The alcalde had declared that Diego is a 'dangerous criminal,' at risk for escape or rescue. _No one_ is to be allowed to see him. Nothing is to be given to him from the outside. He seemed-" she shuddered delicately and shook her head.

Gilberto's eyes narrowed. "What?" he asked.

"Happy," she whispered. "Delighted. He can't really think Diego is a dangerous revolutionary, and if he did he wouldn't be happy about it. Surely, it would be an embarrassment, if Monterrey found out one of the most prominent families... But I can't think..." her eyes darted around. "If this is just because he has an excuse to jail one of Don Alejandro's sons, why didn't he take both of you? In the heat of the moment this morning, he could have manufactured an excuse."

Gilberto shook his head. "We have to be very careful," he said. "Oh, Diego, you are so much better at this than I." He nodded his thanks to the senorita and went to sit with Don Sebastian and Don Carlos. Felipe planted himself at Gilberto's shoulder and hoped nobody would really notice him.

The caballeros nodded a greeting, got the latest word from Gilberto, and then began to talk about stock bloodlines. They seemed absurdly calm and unconcerned. Don Roberto joined them, and then Don Antonio and the ancient Don Roberto Segovia. The streets outside were nearly empty, but the tavern was full. Felipe slipped over to look out the window. He could see a crowd growing in the drygoods store, and-though the angle wasn't good and he couldn't tell for sure-probably at the blacksmith's, too.

Don Alejandro came in walking so hard the floor shook. Furious, and barely in control. He sat at the table with a single nod to his friends. Don Carlos pushed over a cup of wine. Don Alejandro murmured an absent thanks, but pushed the cup away. "He refuses to let me see him," he ground out. "He will not set bail. He will not send him to the governor for adjudication. He is waiting for the magistrate."

Don Carlos gasped. "Mother of God, how long-?"

"Five weeks," Don Sebastian answered tightly.

"He can't expect you to permit this," Don Roberto said sharply.

"He expects me to do something foolish," Don Alejandro answered. "I am sorely tempted."

Don Roberto Segovia, who had said nothing before this, tapped the table. "It distracts attention from his sinful water tax." The Segovia land still had a flowing spring. He wasn't in danger of being fleeced by this new scandal. Perhaps that gave him space to think, or perhaps it was simply a question of age and wisdom. "We can't guess what he'll spend the money on, but we can guess what will happen to the holdings of the men he drives into bankruptcy."

"We have to put a stop to this. Now," Don Carlos said. "Not just for the sake of your son, Alejandro."

Gilberto took a deep breath. "Zorro," he said. "When he hears of this absurd _sale_ of what belongs to everyone...he won't stand for this."

Don Alejandro flinched visibly. "You propose we simply wait for Zorro to ride in and fix our problems?"

"I think that is the only hope we have of avoiding a riot-or even worse, open rebellion. What would Diego say, if we gave the soldiers an excuse to open fire on the peasants and vaqueros? I promise you, those lancers don't _want_ to, but..."

"And what _of_ your brother?" Don Alejandro demanded.

"Zorro won't stand for an unjust whipping. Do you really think Diego will spend even one night in that jail?"

"As grateful as I am for what Zorro has done for this community, this is not his responsibility. It is ours. Yours and mine."

Gilberto dropped his eyes and lowered his voice. Felipe wondered if anyone else could see what this restraint was costing him. "We are also loyal to the crown, and Luis Ramone is the duly appointed representative of the king."

Don Alejandro closed his eyes. His mouth was set firmly, and Felipe thought he was holding in the admission that he would choose his sons over his king. Before he could make his answer the tavern went quiet. Everyone looked up.

Sergeant Mendoza stood in the doorway. He held a small box and carried no musket. After a moment's hesitation, he came over to the table. "Don Alejandro. Don Gilberto." He swallowed. "If...that is..."

Don Alejandro nodded, and the other caballeros rose politely and withdrew. Mendoza glanced at a chair, but Don Alejandro didn't give him permission to sit. Shifting nervously, Mendoza leaned down and held out the box. "The alcalde, he says he wants to make sure there is no accusation of impropriety or-or theft. He has ordered that Don Diego's personal effects be returned to you."

Don Alejandro glanced suspiciously at the box. "How very officious of him."

"Do we seem petty enough to accuse him of picking Diego's pockets?" Gilberto asked sourly.

"Don Gilberto," Sergeant Mendoza said nervously, "I think you should look in the box. The alcalde was very...happy when he gave it to me."

Impatiently, Gilberto set the box on the table and opened it. It held Diego's watch, a rosary, twenty pesos, several scraps of paper, a striped feather, and a small glass bottle.

Very slowly, Don Alejandro lifted the bottle out and set it on the table. It was full. "Gilberto, please tell me this is not..."

"His medication," Gilberto said. "He always prepares his next dose and carries it with him, in case he is out longer than he expects." He lifted the bottle and turned it in his hand. "Felipe, when is he due to take this?"

It took Felipe two tries to answer. His hands didn't want to work. "Before lunch." It was nearly lunch time now.

Sergeant Mendoza crossed himself and murmured something under his breath.

Gilberto gave him a hard look. "Can you get this to him?"

He shook his head miserably. "I can't. No-believe me, I would if I could! But the Alcalde has ordered private Roja to guard the prisoner at all times. He is completely in the alcalde's pocket and they..." he dropped his eyes. "Roja won't be bought and he won't want to help. He likes ugliness."

"Diego has never done you any harm, Mendoza," Gilberto said in a sad voice that made Mendoza squirm in shame.

"If I try, Roja will simply inform the alcalde, Don Diego will be no better off, and I will be whipped." He crossed himself again. "I am sorry. Please believe me."

"I believe you," Don Alejandro said in a soft, distant voice.

"Don Gilberto...What will happen when...when he does not take the medicine?"

Gilberto squeezed the bottle in his fist. "Very little, at first. I think. It passes through the body slowly. He will be tired. The attacks will come more frequently and more severely. In a few days...without the medicine, we will probably have a few days before he develops dropsy, but once that begins he will fail very quickly."

"If-if I could-"

"We have already established that you are useless," Gilberto said unkindly.

His father laid a hand on Gilberto's shoulder. "Thank you, Sergeant. That will be all." He waited until the sergeant had left the tavern, and then he said. "Do you still think we should wait for Zorro?"

Gilberto opened his mouth. The hand that held the bottle of medicine was white and shaking. "He would say to wait. He would say that nobody should die just because Ramone is greedy and stupid. But I...Oh, Diego, I'm sorry." Miserably, he met his father's eyes. "We can't wait. And we have the men to take him by brute force. It would be better to be clever about this, but I can't...I am not Diego. Unless _you_ have a plan in mind?" He swallowed. "But either way...it needs to be now."

Before Alejandro could answer there was a shout from just outside the tavern.

And then a musket shot.

And then more shouting, Mendoza's voice the loudest, although Felipe couldn't tell what he was saying. As one, the gathered vaqueros and caballeros rushed to the door.

Felipe, knowing he could never fight the crowd, darted toward a window instead. He could see a woman fighting with one of the lancers...and some children pouring out of the dry goods store, picking up rocks and clods of manure and throwing them. He didn't see anyone bleeding. He did see that Mendoza had disarmed one of the lancers and was yelling. He looked on the verge of panic.

And then the crowd streaming out of the tavern blocked his view. All he could see was cowboys' backs. Everyone was yelling. No one was shooting, but glass broke somewhere.

Felipe stepped back. He wondered if he was cowardly not to run outside. But he didn't _care_ about the water or being angry at the lancers. Throwing horse shit would not get Diego out of the cuartel. It might even make the alcalde angrier. And in the middle of this chaos, Don Alejandro would never have a chance to organize the men into something useful.

And he would not start a war with the plaza full of women and children being angry and stupid.

He turned around. Senorita Victoria was standing alone in the center of her empty tavern. "This is mad," she said. "How useless. It will just give him an excuse for martial law. Again. If we're lucky and nobody dies." She sank down into an empty chair. "What could we have done...there must have been something..."

Felipe patted her on the shoulder-because, really, what was there to say? and continued past her through the kitchen and out the back door. The windows of the jail looked out on the dusty 'practice ground' between the garrison offices and the tiny guest quarters. Usually there was someone there, even if it was only someone on punishment detail peeling potatoes in the shade. It would be empty now, though. Everyone would be in the plaza, surely. He could see Diego-

At least this riot would be good for something.

He went around the tiny stable behind the tavern and through the narrow alley separating it from the small, old mill. From the other side he could see between the buildings: the crowd in the plaza spilled out a wave of sound that made Felipe's brows and jaw ache. There were boys and young men on the roofs of the drygoods store and the livery stable. They were throwing old potatoes down toward the lancers who were retreating toward the cuartel gate. Felipe ducked his head and jogged around the outer wall of the cuartel-the armory and the store room and the barracks and the kitchen. The smaller gate which let out onto the practice ground was closed. Felipe ran to the barred windows and stood on tiptoe, trying to see in.

It was dark inside. Felipe shaded his eyes and blinked hard, first one window and then another. He couldn't see Diego, but from one he could see the shape of a guard standing outside the bars. Even here, the noise from the plaza was so drowned out any stray sound that might come from either of the cells.

The guard was anxious, pacing, his eyes on the door, not the cells. Felipe picked up a small rock and tapped on the bars. He waited, holding his breath, tapped again.

Diego's fingers appeared at the other window. The fingers wrapped around the furthest bar. And then his eyes, the tops of his shoulders...his large form blocked Felipe's view of the rest of the cell, including the guard.

Inside the cell it was too dim to tell if Diego was pale or not. Felipe strained closer, trying to see. "Are you safe," Diego's fingers asked.

It took a moment to realize what he meant. Felipe looked around. There was no one nearby, no one at all, let alone a lancer.

"It's okay," he answered. And then he realized that_ this_ had been their chance. They could have slipped Diego his medicine now, when even his guard was distracted, but Gilberto had it and he was caught up out there in that mob and-

Felipe took a step back. Maybe he could fine him. Gilberto would understand-

Hunching his shoulders to hide his hands from behind, Diego asked, "How bad is it in the plaza?"

How bad? Felipe shook his head. "No guns. No fighting, maybe. Throwing things. Everybody is angry." And then, because he had to be honest, "Your father has a lot of men. He's _angry_. He knows the alcalde is trying to hurt you. I have to find Gilberto-"

Diego made the breaking motion that meant 'absolutely not.' "You will hide. You will wait. You stay away from-"

The noise from the plaza dimmed and receded. Diego glanced nervously over his shoulder and motioned Felipe back.

The last stray shouts gave way to silence, and that silence was frightening. Felipe pressed into the wall beside the window. The shade it cast was barely enough to cover his toes.

In the plaza voices began to rise again. After a few moments he realized they were chanting "Water!" over and over. It got louder.

Felipe leaned out so he could see in the window. Diego drooped, his forehead resting against the bars. Felipe reached for him, but suddenly Diego stiffened. "Go. Hide," he signed, at the same time saying out loud, "until this is over, go."

He turned away just as Felipe heard the clang of the metal doors being thrown open.

"The rabble think they can intimidate me! Me!" The alcalde's voice.

Diego answered quietly. Felipe couldn't hear what he said, but he assumed it was reasonable.

"Bring him. Tie his hands first-I can't risk having to shoot him if he tries to escape."

When Felipe looked again the little jail was empty.

In the plaza half the pueblo seemed to be shouting for water. The landowners had gathered with their men on the porch of the tavern. Felipe considered joining them, but Diego had ordered him get away. But... Felipe just couldn't force himself to leave. He compromised by planting himself around the corner of the tavern. He could still see, but he was out of the way.

The chanting went on for a long time. Felipe counted a thousand before he gave up and covered his ears. The sun was blazing now. There was no shade anywhere. On any other day people would be finishing lunch and thinking about siesta. Today, though, the crowd gave no sign of relenting. Senora Ortiz, who made the best cheese in town, climbed onto the rim of the fountain and took a bucket and began splashing water across the crowd. For a few minutes it was almost like a party. Many people kept chanting, but other shouted taunts to the soldiers holed up inside the cuartel.

The doors opened and a furious Ramone stepped out, shouting for order. Someone tossed a bucket of water on him. Someone else hit him in the shoulder with a cow patty.

The alcalde retreated. The gates slammed shut.

The chanting changed from "Water," to "Ours!"

Felipe crept back to the practice yard, hoping to see if Diego had been returned to his cell, but there were two lancers on the roof now, and no way to approach the wall. He waited for a long time before giving up and going back. He just didn't know what to do...

As he turned he nearly walked into Gilberto coming silently up behind him. Felipe jumped back. Gilberto scowled at him. "I thought you were showing some sense and staying out of the way. This is no place for children."

Felipe didn't have time to be insulted. "Guards on the roof," he said. "We can't reach him."

Gilberto cursed under his breath. He glanced back toward the plaza. "Father has sent to San Gabriel for the priests, maybe they can talk some sense into him." He rolled his eyes. "I'm not sure they can stand up to him. Father Raphael could have done it..." but he'd been gone for a week already. The mission priests, while pious and practical and clever, didn't have much dealing with the townspeople. They might not get too far with Ramone.

Gilberto took a deep breath and let it out. He traced a tiny 'Z' in the air. "Go get my things. Hide them in the rafters of the old mill. I'll...think of a plan. Somehow. At least I can probably come up with something better than letting this riot turn into a war." Something bleak crossed his face, then. Just for a moment. But Felipe recognized it. Gilberto had, after all, seen a battlefield too. He had smelled the blood and stepped around the bodies.

Felipe took one of the de le Vega horses tied behind the tavern and raced home as fast as he could. The mount was understandably nervous, and fought him a little. On the way he passed the two-wheeled rig coming from the mission. He waved at the priests as he passed them. They nodded grimly and one absently made a blessing.

Felipe decided against trying to smuggle Toronado into town. Gilberto could manage without him, if he had a change of clothes hidden near by and Toronado, with all the noise and chaos...Felipe had barely been able to cope. Toronado certainly wasn't ready.

The pueblo was quiet, though, when Felipe returned. He rode around the edge, retied the horse, hid the non-descript saddle bags in the mill, and slipped into the plaza. The chanting had stopped. No voices were raised at all, although people spoke softly to one another. Felipe couldn't tell if the mood was hopeful or nervous. He made his way to the tavern porch were Don Alejandro and Senorita Victoria were standing solemnly.

Don Alejandro patted him roughly on the shoulder and gave him an (unconvincing) reassuring look.

The gates opened, and the two priests emerged. The gates closed again. The priests, without pausing, went to the little adobe church on the other side of the cuartel. Glowering, Don Alejandro stalked after them.

Gilberto spun on his heel and said something to Don Sebastian. Felipe couldn't tell what he said because the crowed had started to shout again. Their voices echoed off the hard walls and struck the open air with a hard, flat, incoherent sound. A pistol fired, then another. Several people from the crowd pressed forward and began to pound on the cuartel gates. Felipe couldn't stop himself from pressing his hands to his ears.

The cuartel opened so quickly that a handful of people were knocked down. A line of lancers stepped forward, aimed their muskets in the air and fired. Before the sound had echoed away, the line had been replaced by another, this time with their guns pointed at the crowd.

The silence was painful.

No one seemed to move, but suddenly Don Alejandro was standing at the head of the crowd. "Well, Senor Alcalde?" He shouted. "Are you going to shoot us all? Or just throw us in all jail."

Felipe could see Ramone's head-just the top of it. He was standing behind his men.

"How dare you! This is mutiny! This is treason! I could have you all hung-"

From her place on the porch, Senorita Victoria laughed and shouted, "And who would pay our taxes then? The dead are notoriously poor!"

"How would you explain it?" Don Alejandro asked sarcastically. "The governor is bound to wonder where his town went-he doesn't have so many he'd wouldn't miss one." He walked over to stand within touching distance of the soldiers and spoke more quietly.

Angry, Ramone pushed past his men and answered. Felipe couldn't tell what they said to each other, but suddenly Ramone stepped back and shouted, "The water rationing is withdrawn. You refuse the help of your government? Fine. On your own heads be it. Lancers! Back to the garrison!" He turned and stalked away.

The crowd erupted into cheers.

Gilberto leapt from the porch, shoving through the mob as fast as his long legs could carry him. Felipe tried to follow, but he was buffeted aside by the press of bodies. People were throwing water about again, and a few of the vaqueros had started an impromptu dance with some of the town women. A line of small children raced past him shrieking-probably they didn't even know what everyone was so happy about.

By the time Felipe crossed the plaza and reached Don Alejandro (his hand on his sheathed sword, his eyes ranging everywhere) Diego had come as far as the cuartel gate. He was moving very slowly. Gilberto had one arm and Sergeant Mendoza had the other, but he didn't lean on either of them. His eyes were fixed straight ahead.

Overwhelmed with relief, Felipe crossed himself and started forward. A strong arm-Juan?-caught him from behind. Felipe tried to squirm away, and Juan shook him sharply. "Keep your head, kid," he snapped. "We don't have him yet."

A few more steps and Diego has reached his father-and that was when Felipe realized that something was wrong. He didn't say anything or even turn his head. Don Alejandro stepped between Diego and the garrison. He had Raul and Tomas and Don Sebastian and Don Carlos beside him now. People were leaving the plaza or filling barrels from the fountain or joining in the dancing. Someone had produced a guitar.

Juan released Felipe-at last-and he darted toward them.

Diego, still only a few yards from the cuartel, stumbled and dropped to his knees.

Gilberto had him up at once. Now, though, he and the sergeant were mostly carrying him. They moved much faster, at least. Felipe managed to catch them just as they reached the tavern porch. He darted forward and opened the door.

Gilberto pushed his brother into the nearest chair. He was speaking quickly and quietly into Diego's ear. Abruptly he spun on Mendoza, who was watching with open horror. "You! Do something useful and find the doctor. He's around somewhere." He snagged a chair with his toe and popped Diego's feet into it. "Felipe, find a basin of water and a cloth."

Felipe couldn't make his feet move. Diego's eyes were strangely unfocused. His breath came in short, shallow gasps. His lips had gone purple.

"_Now_, boy!"

Fighting tears, he ran through the curtain that hid the kitchen.

When he returned from the kitchen with a pan of water and a clean rag from the basket by the door, Don Alejandro had arrived and was stripping Diego out of his sweaty shirt. Senorita Victoria was coming down the stairs with her arms full of linens.

He could see what Gilberto was saying, now, so quietly and urgently in Diego's ear: "I need you to cooperate with me, Little Brother, help me just a little. If you die, I swear I will kill him. You don't want that, I know it." He motioned Felipe forward, seized the wet cloth, and began to wipe Diego's face and neck. "He had him in a hot little room. There wasn't any breeze. He didn't give him any water."

Don Alejandro took a pillow from Senorita Victoria and tried to settle Diego more comfortably in the hard chair. Diego wasn't asleep, but he didn't seem aware of them, either.

A pounding at the door, and Senorita Victoria rushed over to admit Doctor Hernandez. Gilberto moved aside-slightly-to make room for the doctor. The doctor checked the pulse at the wrist and throat. He checked eyes and mouth and fingertips...it seemed to take a very long time. He drew a bottle of smelling salts from his bag and held it under Diego's nose. Diego reacted only a little.

"Senorita, may I trouble you for a chili?" While she scurried off to get it, he turned to Gilberto. "I need to know what he's taking at the moment."

Gilberto's mouth dropped open with dawning horror. "He's been...fiddling with it. I don't...we will have to ask him."

Don Alejandro crossed himself.

Felipe grabbed an abandoned glass of wine and carried to the table next to where Diego was sitting. Using the tip of his finger, he wrote out the names that were on the bottles Diego was currently using. When he finished, he pointed to each one in turn and signed a number of drops to Gilberto, who translated.

"_That_ is what is in _this_?" Doctor Hernandez asked, pointing to the little bottle Gilberto had set on the table.

Felipe nodded.

"We cannot give it to him now. Too many of those are diuretics, and he is already dehydrated, I think."

Senorita Victoria returned with a thin chili in her hand. Using a tiny, shining knife, the doctor cut a sliver and set it on Diego's tongue. Slowly, Diego shifted. He pushed at the arm of the chair, then one hand reached for his head while the other reached for his mouth.

"Chew it," the doctor ordered. "It isn't safe to give you a more traditional stimulant just now."

"Help us, just a little," Gilberto whispered. Then, "I cannot do this without you. I cannot even buckle my own shoes without you, everyone says so. Please, Diego."

Diego turned his head and _looked_ at his brother. Felipe nearly applauded.

The doctor seized Diego's chin. "Open your mouth, young man. Very good." A spoonful of something went in. Then something else."

Diego swallowed obediently. He shoved against the chair and tried to sit up straight. "Digitalis," he gasped.

Doctor Hernandez shook his head. "You're already dehydrated."

"The affect on the heart-" Diego said through his teeth.

"A short wait, a few hours-"

"The doses I take are quite small. I've been protecting my stomach... It cannot wait."

"Give it to him," Don Alejandro said. He laid his hands on Diego's shoulders.

"He will have to drink-"

"We'll _get_ him to drink." His hands tightened, and Diego slowly reached up and found his father's arm.

Still hesitating, the doctor took another bottle from his bag.

Senorita Victoria began to move around the room, lighting lamps. Was it sunset already? Had Diego spent the whole day with an evil man who had no mercy, who enjoyed seeing other people suffer? How much damage could a very evil man do in so much time?

Gilberto had pulled up a chair and settled next to Diego, gently coaxing him to take enough water and orange juice to satisfy the doctor.

With nothing to do and nowhere to go, Felipe sank into a chair and buried his head in his hands.

Someone knocked at the door. Senorita Victoria announced that the tavern was closed and barred the door. She disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with a tray-bread, a little cold meat, pickles, olives, oranges. She patted Felipe's back. "You should eat something. Please? It's going to be a long night."

As though this were the first long night! Felipe shook his head.

Outside, the plaza grew quiet. People were going home, probably. To families and beds and supper.

When Don Alejandro closed his hand on Felipe's forearm, he jumped. Don Alejandro frowned and produced his handkerchief. "Wipe your face and drink some water. You need to look calm. He's asking for you."

Felipe nodded and scrubbed at his eyes. He hurriedly gulped down some water and went timidly to Diego. They had moved him to a more comfortable chair and covered him with a light blanket. Felipe squatted beside him and automatically turned his face to the light. "Not blue," he signed absently. "That's good."

Diego smiled with his eyes. "Another amateur doctor in the family..." he paused to breathe. "...be as bad as 'Berto soon." Slowly, he reached out and pressed Felipe's hand. "I know you're worried...I'm all right."

Felipe glanced down. Diego's arm, where it emerged from the blanket, was starting to show a bruise. Had someone grabbed him? Or had he tried to defend himself from-something?

Gilberto put a quelling hand of Felipe's shoulder. "Not now," he said.

Diego pulled his arm back into the blanket. "I told you to get away...Did you listen?"

Felipe swallowed. "I stayed out of the plaza. I would have anyway, throwing food wouldn't have helped free you. But." Felipe winced. "I didn't run all the _way_ away." He shrugged. "You'll have to forgive me."

Diego made a breathless sound that might have been a laugh.

Felipe thought for a moment, unsure what Diego needed from him. He glanced up. Don Alejandro and the doctor had stepped aside to talk. Neither one looked afraid anymore. Victoria was sitting in the corner. Felipe thought she might be praying. "I'm okay," he signed firmly to Diego. "It's over. He gave the water back. You are here with us. Close your eyes." To show he wasn't speaking anymore, he took one of Diego's icy hands in both of his and nodded reassuringly. Diego closed his eyes and let his head rest against the back of the chair.

Gilberto leaned down and said into his ear, "Well done."

Diego didn't sleep, but he rested. Felipe watched him and tried not to wish that Diego would open his eyes and order him to do something more useful than stare at him while he breathed. After a while, the doctor checked Diego's pulse and, looking pleased, suggested he try to eat something. Diego asked for Senorita Victoria's atole and managed a few swallows before pushing the cup away and sliding at last into a light sleep.

Sometime after midnight, the doctor finally declared that Diego had improved enough that he could endure being moved upstairs and given a proper bed. Like a man waking from a dream, Don Alejandro turned to Senorita Victoria. "Your guests-" He looked around as though they might be hiding under a table somewhere.

Tiredly, she pushed her hair out of her eyes. "I have none. I suppose it wasn't a coincidence...the alcalde could hardly steal our water and try to sell it back to us with witnesses, could he?" She glanced at the balcony upstairs. "The good news is, all my rooms are empty."

Don Alejandro reached for his pocket. Victoria bristled and caught his arm. "Alejandro de le Vega, don't you dare offer me money! You and your family are guests in my home."

"I can't take advantage-" he said unhappily.

She stepped closer and glared up at him. "Take advantage? Who taught me to keep books? And hire servants? And negotiate for cheese? I had no-one. Just me in the tavern, and I was sixteen and you were the only one who didn't laugh at me, so no, don't you dare offer me money today!"

He might have argued with her, but Diego, hearing the noise, stirred and looked around. "What's wrong?" he murmured.

Doctor Hernandez gave everyone a dark look and began to prepare his patient to move upstairs. When they had Diego settled in the largest room, Don Alejandro declared that he and the doctor would sit up with Diego and the others were to get some sleep. To Felipe's utter shock, Gilberto accepted this decision without protest. He paused for just a moment, studying Diego's face, and then drew Felipe with him into one of the other rooms.

He carried the candle to the window, opened the casement and leaned out. "Yes, this will do," he said, coming back in. "It will be dark in the mill. Exactly where are my things?"

Oh, no. No, no, no. Horrified, Felipe asked, "What are you going to do?"

Gilberto set the candle down with the delicacy of a man who was using all his strength not to throw things. "I am not going to kill him, if that's what you're worried about."

He didn't seem to be lying, but Gilberto managed to deceive Felipe regularly these days. He rubbed his hands together nervously. Did he believe him? Was there anything he could do if he didn't? No one but Diego could contain Gilberto, not really.

"Oh, for pity sake! I'm would never throw everything away just for vengeance."

Oh, well. That _was_ a lie.

"Well. I would. Cheerfully. But I won't do that to Diego. He couldn't bear it."

Felipe wasn't convinced. He'd grown up surrounded by de le Vega tempers, and sometimes they were so outraged, so certain they were right, that they stopped thinking. "You mustn't upset him," he reminded sternly.

Gilberto rolled his eyes. "You are turning into every bit the mother hen he is."

"Thank you."

"Zorro must appear. Surely you see that. After today, this outrage must be addressed. If he doesn't appear, people will wonder why. Where can I find my things?"

Felipe described the spot. Gilberto nodded, thanked him politely, blew out the candle, and slipped out the window and onto the roof.

Alone in the darkness, Felipe took off his sandals and climbed onto the narrow bed furthest from the window. He fell into an exhausted but unhappy sleep, rousing anxiously when he heard Gilberto returning. He sat up.

"No, I didn't kill him. I didn't even maim or humiliate him," Gilberto gave a quiet, sharp laugh. "I couldn't find him. He isn't in his office or his quarters or wandering about the cuartel. I looked..." He stripped off his boots and his vest and his belt, tossing them on the floor. "Don't snore," he commanded, dropping onto the other bed. .

Felipe went back to sleep.

**~tbc**


	4. July 26, 1813

_You know, I always thought Luis Ramone would be much more efficient at oppressing and exploiting the people of Los Angeles if he weren't distracted by his sadism. I mean, public whippings should be a tool you deploy strategically to make a point, not a hobby you look for an excuse to indulge in._

**July 26, 1813**

The sky was just turning grey and pink when Felipe awoke, but the noise! Even this early, the pueblo was loud and strange. He slipped out of bed and peeked out the window. Two men were below, arguing over a cart and a dog.

He glanced at Gilberto, asleep on top of the covers and still mostly dressed. Felipe crept out the door and went to the room they had given Diego.

Senorita Victoria was sitting between the bed and the door. Diego was propped upright by pillows and his eyes were closed. Quietly, she was telling the story of the sheep that had interrupted Joes Macias' wedding. Diego already knew that story-Felipe could remember Don Alejandro including it in a letter to the boys.

When the story was finished, she leaned down and whispered. He nodded slightly and opened his eyes.

"Diego, there is some of the tea left. The doctor wanted you to finish-?"

He nodded and reached out. She steadied his hand on the cup. Perhaps he grimaced as he drained it, because she asked, "Is it so awful?"

Diego smiled wanly as she took the cup away. "Victoria, if you left butter in the sun for a week and then seasoned it with rotten cabbage...no, this would still be worse." He caught sight of Felipe in the doorway and motioned him in.

Felipe came around the bed and sat on the edge. He leaned forward and pulled Diego into a fierce hug. The hug Diego returned wasn't as strong as Felipe would have liked, but he made himself smile cheerfully as he settled Diego back against the pillows. He turned Diego's hand and found the pulse-too weak, too fast, but nothing he didn't expect. He rested Diego's hand on his knee so they were still touching, and turned so Victoria could see him ask, "Has he slept?"

She nodded. "He was asleep when I relieved Don Alejandro an hour ago."

That was good. "His color?"

She frowned at Felipe's hands. "He-what?" she asked.

"Color," Diego translated. "He wants to know if I've been blue."

"It was too dark when I arrived, but...he slept peacefully until a few minutes ago."

"You might_ ask_ me how I am," Diego said.

Felipe shrugged. He asked a more productive question instead. "Can you eat?"

Diego glanced at the empty cup and shook his head. Felipe recognized the smell of that tea: sometimes it worked very well, but it always left Diego a little queasy.

"Can you sleep?"

Diego shrugged.

Felipe turned to Victoria. "Thank you," he said very politely. "I'll stay with him. We'll be fine."

She blinked. "My goodness, I think I've been dismissed," she said, sounding amused.

"He claims he's not my keeper," Diego said.

And _no_, that was something Felipe never meant to be, but it had been said, now. Out loud. For a moment he fumbled, and then he said, "On your own you got arrested! Someone has to keep you out of trouble."

Diego smiled tiredly and made an indulgent gesture. Felipe took that as forgiveness and moved down to the bottom of the bed to sit against the footboard. When Victoria had gone, Diego pushed his hair out of his eyes and tried to look stern. He only succeeded in looking weary. "You might as well tell me."

"Tell you what?" He really didn't know what Diego was asking.

"What has my brother done to Luis Ramone?" Diego hissed.

"Nothing! I promise, nothing! He couldn't find him. The alcalde's run off. Maybe he went to his estate."

Diego gave him a hard look, testing this for truth. At least he nodded and closed his eyes. In a few minutes he fell asleep, and Felipe slipped off the bed and went to the window. This room looked down on the plaza. It was busy. People were filling barrels and jugs and buckets with water.

The morning grew brighter and warmer. The plaza emerged from shadow. The sky was cloudless; there would be no rain. Again.

Gilberto came in. He was wearing boots, but still he made no sound. Gently, without disturbing him, he touched Diego's wrist. He sighed. His hands said, "He's better," but his eyes said, "I'm very afraid."

Felipe was afraid, too. He dropped his eyes so Gilberto wouldn't see.

"Did you speak to him?" he signed.

Felipe shrugged. "He was pretending nothing was wrong."

That drew another sigh. Gilberto sat down in a chair and propped his feet on the bed a few inches from Diego's toes. He set his pocket watch on the bedside table.

"Going somewhere?" Felipe asked.

Gilberto regarded him thoughtfully for a long time. "I want to know how long he is able to sleep."

Oh.

Doctor Hernandez visited briefly. He didn't disturb Diego, only left a small glass bottle: the prescription he was to take when he woke.

Felipe went out to use the privy. On his way back through the kitchen, Victoria asked if he was hungry. He pointed hopefully at the basket of oranges. Instead of giving him one, she handed him the basket and shoed him upstairs.

She must have bought them from the mission, he realized, sharing the treasure with Gilberto. The fruit was juicy and sweet. Only the mission had water for its orchards right now.

After a while, Don Alejandro leaned in. "Need anything?" he signed to them.

They shook their heads.

"I'm going down to meet," he frowned, clearly forgetting the sign he wanted. He settled on "old men. If you need me..."

They nodded.

Felipe, moving as quietly as he could, cleaned up the orange peels.

Just after one o'clock, Diego slitted his eyes and murmured, "You know I hate it when you do this."

"How long?" Felipe signed.

"Four hours since I got here, which is not bad," Gilberto shifted to the bed and gave Diego a drink of water, then the medicine. "How are you feeling?"

"Stared at." He frowned and lowered his voice, but Felipe could see him well enough to follow what he said next: "What has the doctor said? I assume, since I have not been left alone-"

"No!" Gilberto answered sharply. "No, it-we are not expecting you to die momentarily. No." He trailed off, words failing him.

Felipe nudged Diego's leg for attention. "In case you need something," he signed. "You might be dizzy. We couldn't let you get up alone..."

Diego gently reached out and silenced him. He shook his head. "I can all but smell the fear. I...don't try to spare me now. Not after all this."

For a moment, Gilberto was too horrified to speak. "Diego! If this were a...a death-watch, Father would be here. Wouldn't he? You're getting better, not worse...Diego..."

Diego leaned against the pile of pillows and assessed Gilberto. "Something," he said. "Something inside you...both of you. I might- -might- -misread Felipe." He paused to get his breath. "Not you. If you are not convinced I'm dying, tell me what is ripping you to pieces."

"Little Brother, I think...you might not understand how badly yesterday frightened us all. Everyone who realizes what kind of man Luis Ramone is-Even your pet lancer was beside himself with worry. Nothing terrible has happened, not that you don't already know about. The way we're behaving today, it is for our own poor nerves, not because we believe you won't recover."

"Ah." And then, "Wait. What did you think Ramone was doing? What 'terrible thing' happened?"

Gilberto swallowed and looked away. "We won't talk about it now. You need to rest. And maybe something to eat."

He pushed himseslf up on one arm."'Berto, you mustn't think...He didn't get what he wanted."

He nodded tightly, his eyes fixed directly in front of him. "We won't talk about this now. Later, when you're stronger. When there's been more time." He rose from the bed and started for the door. "I'll see if little Victoria has anything in the kitchen-"

"There is nothing to talk about," Diego said firmly. "He did not hurt me."

With his hand on the door, Gilberto sagged slightly. "You can't lie to me, Diego."

"Well, I can _lie_, I just can't fool you." He stopped and took a couple of deep breaths.

"Please, please, not now, Diego," Gilberto begged softly. "It's upsetting you. You don't need to talk about this."

"I cannot allow you to leave this room thinking I was-"

"Diego, I have seen the bruises!" Gilberto cried softly. "I have seen them."

Diego ran his fingers through his hair. "Sergeant Mendoza was holding my left arm when we were crossing the plaza. I remember I fainted. I'm not a light man, 'Berto. Trying to catch me-"

"And the bruise on your hip? It looks like the toe of a boot!" He stopped and closed his eyes tightly. "Stop protecting him, Diego. You don't need to. Rest now, and we'll deal with this later." He reached for the door again.

"I can't let you leave here believing he humiliated or frightened or hurt me."

"I won't touch him. I swear by God. Don't do this now. For your sake, I'll spare the monster, all right? Let it be enough?" He turned his face away.

"Monster? That pathetic excuse for a man does not qualify as a monster." Diego groaned in frustration. "You are not listening. There is nothing to avenge. Do you really believe that shallow, empty, _little_ man could really hurt me? Humiliate me? That I would ever, ever be frightened of _him_?"

"He watched you suffer." Gilberto's voice was muffled by the door.

"And my suffering had nothing to do with him. He got no satisfaction from it. He wanted me to beg. I wouldn't. He wanted me to cower. I didn't. He wanted to think he had absolute power over me...he had none at all." Tiring, Diego leaned back against the pillows. "None at all. Yes, he tried to bully me. Yes, I had a heart seizure in the cell. Yes, you had to carry me across the plaza. But he did _not_ defeat me. I couldn't breathe, but I did laugh at him."

Gilberto stepped back and looked at Diego almost fearfully. "Truly?"

"There is nothing to avenge," Diego whispered. "I won. And...by the way...if you leave me alone, I won't start weeping or cursing or praying to forget. I admit I am ill, but I promise you I am not broken."

"You beat him?" he repeated with dawning hope.

"Of course I did. Luis Ramone is nothing," Diego whispered. "That doesn't change just because I'm locked in a cell."

The door opened suddenly, nearly catching Gilberto in the nose. Don Alejandro walked in. He had a tray of food and an implacable look, and he sent Gilberto and Felipe away to wash and eat and get some air.

Z

That evening, when the sundown wind had cooled the valley, they bundled Diego into a carriage and took him home.

~TBC


	5. July 27, 1813

About another dozen pages. Woo hoo, it's huge!

(not really)

**July 27, 1813**

Doctor Hernandez came out before lunch and he and Diego had a long, private conversation about medicine.

Victoria rode out while the tavern was closed for siesta. She bought soup for Diego, but Felipe thought she was mostly concerned with checking on him rather than feeding him. Diego was asleep, but Gilberto sat with her in the library, asking about town, how everyone was doing, whether the alcalde had made an appearance...?

To Felipe, that last was clearly the point of the entire discussion. But Ramone hadn't been seen in town for two days. The news she did have, though, was very interesting. All late taxes had been declared immediately due. In full. Lancers had visited several farms that morning, ransacking the houses for any money and seizing livestock and even furniture if there was no money to take. Gilberto teased out the details-that the lancers were apparently working their way south and east from the pueblo-and gave Felipe a hard look. "Why don't you see if Diego is awake?"

In Diego's room, Felipe hesitated. Diego was sleeping. Still. Again. And that was good. Felipe was tempted to let him rest, but he knew what Diego would say: farmers being rousted by soldiers who were carrying off their sheep and chickens and chairs...

He reached down and touched Diego's shoulder. Diego started violently, freezing at once as his eyes met Felipe's. "What's wrong?" Felipe asked one handed, as he reached for Diego's pulse.

"Nothing. A nightmare. Why did you wake me?"

As quickly as he could, Felipe explained that Victoria was visiting and had brought news about a tax collection. Diego saw where he was going and stopped him in the middle of the story. "Has he gone out?"

Felipe shook his head. "He's with her."

"Ah." He let Felipe help him into a dressing gown, but then he wanted to go out to the sitting room to meet Victoria.

Felipe was having none of that. "No. The doctor said five days in bed. Not wandering around the house being a host."

"Now, see reason. I can hardly have her visit me in my room. It's not proper."

And he did sound reasonable, but Felipe knew him well enough not to be swayed. "I'll fetch Maria, if you want. Very proper." He shrugged, "Anyway, it didn't stop you yesterday."

Diego made a face at that. "I was very ill. You cannot think I would have allowed -If I'd had any choice -" he broke off and tried another tack. "I do have some dignity. I would rather not greet here from my bed, like an invalid."

"You can't make up your mind. Are you a threat to her reputation or ill?" He shrugged "You have enough dignity for any five people. You are the bravest, strongest man in the territory. It doesn't matter where you are, so might as well stay in bed." Felipe swallowed the anger he felt rising in his belly. He decided he had gotten all he could from flattery and moved on to pathos: "Please. Don't push yourself. You've been so ill. Please. For me?"

"Oh, now that is not fair!"

"I don't care about fair." He handed Diego his comb. "If you want dignity, flatten your hair out. I'll go get her."

When Victoria followed Felipe in, she made an effort to look cheerful. "Diego, you look much better." It wasn't true. He was still so pale he was nearly translucent. He didn't call her on the lie, though. He offered Victoria a seat and gracefully thanked her for her help and hospitality the day before.

"Hospitality," she said indignantly. "As though I were throwing a party. Or as though offering a few rooms for the night were somehow an imposition!"

Diego actually grinned at this. "I apologize. I didn't mean to imply you were in anyway stingy or hard-hearted."

It was a tease, and she seemed to see that, but she didn't laugh or tease him back. She leaned forward seriously. "You are the best friends I have. Your family has been so kind, and I've had so little chance to repay-but even that hardly seems to matter now that we are all comrades in a war! Well, how else can I describe it? Our alcalde has declared war on our property, our livelihoods, our families... It really isn't funny to call it 'hospitality,' when necessity forces us to band together in the face such terrible oppression."

"It isn't like you to be so pessimistic," he said quietly.

"No, usually I'm just angry."

"No," he corrected, "_usually_ you have faith in the people and the land."

She smiled tightly at that.

"Victoria, the last few days were very difficult-"

"They were terrifying," she corrected bitterly.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of Luis Ramone: he's just an unhappy, greedy man. He has no strength except the lancers assigned here. He has no friends, no genuine respect."

"He has power!"

"A little he has borrowed from the government," Diego shrugged. "He has no power of his own. I've heard you say that."

"He nearly killed you!" She snapped her mouth shut as though she wanted to take back what she'd said, but of course that was impossible.

"Is that what has frightened you so badly? My life is...in the hands of my illness and The Lord, _not_ Luis Ramone." He leaned forward. "We will outlast him, Victoria, this small, weak, bitter man. We will outsmart him. We will endure him. We will help one another...and, of course, we do receive help as well."

"What do you mean? I've _tried_ praying."

"Well, that, too. Of coarse. Always. But I was thinking of Zorro."

She made a little face, "You usually have nothing nice to say about him."

"I don't believe he's the solution to all our problems and I don't think he's infallible, but in just a few months Zorro has put the alcalde on the defensive and curbed the worst of his...excess."

"That is true. We have not had a whipping in a couple of months." She eyed Diego for a moment, then went on to talk of other things. Cheerfully, calmly. It began to seem like any other afternoon.

Even though she did most of the talking, Diego soon tired, and Victoria mercifully pressed his hand and said good-bye. Felipe had just seen her out the gate when Don Alejandro arrived at the barn. He went straight to Diego's room and sat on the edge of the bed. "Diego. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. As you can see, Felipe watches me all the time...You didn't need to come in."

"Juan and Raul have things in hand."

"Then what's this," he reached out and touched a smear of brown on his father's shirt. "What happened?"

"Wild dogs got into the sheep this morning." He sighed. "Mutton for dinner."

"Father! Not your new stock."

"No, fortunately. But I'm bringing them into the breeding barn until we find those dogs. It's nothing you need to worry about. Where is your brother? He's not here?" He frowned. The twins were usually together, especially in the last few weeks as Diego's health had declined.

"I sent him out riding. I couldn't bear being stared at all day. He usually checks on the bees first, if you want to find him."

"Diego...do we need to talk about your brother?"

"Has he done something to upset you?" Diego asked.

"No. Not that I know of. Not yet." He gave his son a patient, sad look. "Diego."

"What is it?"

He looked around, as though he were hoping Gilberto had somehow arrived and would save him from this conversation. "You and your brother both...can be rather direct when it comes to personal justice. But, Diego, you, _you _always keep your perspective. With you...the punishment always fits the crime. Your brother..."

"'Berto-Father, you can't think '_Berto_ would-"

"Of course I think he would. I know how angry he is. I know he is afraid. I know how desperate, how very...Diego, you need to tell me, has he gone after Ramone?"

"_No_."

"Your brother isn't thinking clearly. Diego, if I have to protect him from himself..."

"Father, I promise. He hasn't gone after the alcalde. He won't kill him. I know Gilberto. Yes, he's upset, but I have him in hand...I'm keeping him busy." Diego cleared his throat. "If I thought he needed tying up and sitting on, I'd tell you. I would, Father. Gilberto isn't going to do anything stupid. We learned a lot in Madrid, not just from the books. He's all right."

"Diego..."

"He knows I need him. Gilberto will not fail me. I am absolutely sure."

"All right, then."

"You mustn't worry, Father."

"All right, I won't worry..." Which was a lie, but Diego didn't seem to notice. He nodded and fell asleep holding on to his father's hand.

Z

Gilberto didn't get home till dusk. Don Alejandro was in the barn. Diego was asleep. Gilberto planted himself at the foot of Diego's bed and told Felipe about his afternoon in graceless signs. Occasionally he had to resort to mime to make up for his limited vocabulary, but the story was still so funny that Felipe's belly and throat were completely twisted up by laughter. Gilberto had found the tax collectors easily...and promptly scared them all onto their bellies with one of Diego's test explosives. Then he'd chased off three of their horses and led the rest (when they finally managed to mount) on a hunt up the dry wash south of town. When they were thoroughly tired, he had darted ahead and laid a false trail into a blind canyon. He'd stayed hidden in the brush long enough to hear the lancers cheering that they had Zorro 'cornered.'

Diego had to wait till much later for the story. By the time he woke it was supper time. Don Alejandro returned then and ran them off. He took his supper with Diego. Much to Felipe's surprise, Gilberto didn't eat formally in the dining room alone, but ate in the kitchen with the staff-without changing his clothes or anything. He seemed a little weary.

The next day, Gilberto waited until his father had ridden out to check the upland waterholes-or whatever might be left of them-before heading out to harass the tax collectors. When he came back in the late afternoon, he and Toronado were both covered in dust. "But they didn't collect one centavo in taxes," he sighed, stripping off the sweat-soaked mask. "Not one. And five of them have a 'Z' in their uniforms."

The day after that was Sunday. There would be no tax collection. The de le Vega household went to Church, all except for Diego who was still confined to his bed and Felipe, who was content to watch him.

While Diego was awake, Felipe dutifully read his chemistry assignment. As soon as Diego's eyes drifted closed, though, his thoughts slid back along the lines they had been trying to follow for days.

It had not occurred to him before that the alcalde was evil in any special sort of way. He was greedy, cared nothing for the needs of the pueblo, had no compassion for anyone...but powerful people were like that sometimes. It was a fact of life, a sad one, yes, but not shocking.

Were Diego and Gilberto just such idealists that _they_ were shocked? But idealist wasn't the same thing is innocent. Both boys had seen a great deal. They'd read all sorts of things. They'd lived in Madrid. What in a small-town administrator could be so corrupt and incompetent that it outraged them so?

What had Gilberto thought Luis Ramone had done to Diego?

What had he _tried_ to do...and failed? And why?

_He watched you suffer. _

Felipe understood revenge. Sort of. But Diego was no special enemy of the alcalde's. They hardly knew each other. Why would hurting Diego be any particular goal? Was it just because Diego's father had resisted him? A punishment because Don Alejandro had been inconvenient?

Did he hate everyone so much? But how could anyone hate _everyone_? The Devil hated everyone, of course, but Ramone was just a man, not a demon. Was he mad, then? Was that what upset the twins so much, because the alcalde wasn't just 'bad' and inconvenient? he was crazy and completely dangerous?

He wouldn't ask Diego about it. Clearly, even discussing the subject was something he tried to protect Felipe from: so much of the conversation passed in significant looks. Which in itself spoke to how awful this must be: Felipe wasn't _that_ young, and not completely innocent. He already knew terrible things happened in the world...

What in Luis Ramone could be worse than what Felipe knew about war or fear or heartbreak?

Felipe had no answers for any of it. He kept coming back to the same questions.

Diego stirred and frowned in his sleep. Felipe reached out and covered his hand. Diego sat upright and reached for-something. He saw Felipe and stopped. "Ah," he said. "Sorry."

"What's wrong?" Felipe asked.

Diego rolled his eyes. "I have enough to worry about to explain a few bad dreams," he said.

Felipe moved to the bed and looked hard at Diego for a moment. "Did you lie when you said the alcalde didn't hurt you?"

Diego softened. "I'm not dreaming about him...although, honestly, I'm angrier at him then I thought I would be." He frowned, seeing that Felipe didn't completely believe him. "You must promise. This is our secret."

"Of course!"

"I dream about Gilberto fighting the lancers all alone. And you must not tell him because he will think it means I do not believe he is good enough to win, and that isn't true."

Felipe nodded. This was perfectly reasonable. "It's because you love him more than anyone."

Diego pushed himself further up against the pillows and folded his arms. "That's an odd way to put it, 'I love him _more_.' I love him, but I can't measure it or compare it to how 'much' I love you or Father, or how I felt about Mother..." He paused, and the room was very quiet. "At chapel at the college, we had a priest once that said we must love God more than anyone else. As though it were some kind of competition, or God was greedy and wanted all the love in the world for himself. But I suppose you knew I was a heretic."

Felipe shrugged.

"'Berto...I know him as well as I know myself. I know his unhappiness and his hopes and his courage. He's part of my...self. And I feel so helpless here. I can only sit and think about what he is doing. There are so many things to worry about..."

"He would say it's not good for you," Felipe said, sort of joking.

"And I worry about that, too," Diego whispered. "What will become of him if I die? You and Father, you will be all right, but Gilberto -"

"I will not be all right!" Felipe interrupted. "It isn't okay if you die!"

"Felipe," Diego paused. "Felipe I hope to see you grown. I _plan_ to see you grown. God knows, I will do my best. But it's very likely that you will outlive me by a good long time. I certainly pray that you will. And when I am gone, whenever that happens...you will be all right. You are strong. You are brave. You are intelligent. It will hurt and you will miss me, but you will be fine. You will build a life for yourself and have a family and raise your children with wisdom and kindness-_yes_, I believe this. When you're thirty and teaching your children to ride, I want you to remember that I believed this."

Felipe ground his teeth together and made his hands into fists, but Diego sat there kindly watching him and the words fought their way out. "I don't care about years and years from now. I want you alive! Now! And tomorrow!"

Diego reached out and ruffled his hair. "I promise. We'll do our best."

He saw, suddenly, what Diego needed to know. And, oh, to Felipe it was so much less important than Diego being all right. But to Diego himself, this was the important thing, and he needed to know it- "I'll take care of him. If you...if you leave us, I won't let him..." And, all right, yes, now that he thought of it, he could see what Diego was afraid of because the idea of Gilberto de le Vega taking vengeance on a world that had stolen Diego from him was a scary, scary thought. He would destroy himself and everyone around long before his grief was spent. "I won't let him. He'll be all right. Sort of."

Diego searched his face for a moment. "Thank you," he said.

Felipe swallowed hard, but his throat continued to ache. "He carries you inside him. He really does hear your voice telling him to be careful, to pay attention, to keep things simple. He will be all right. And I will help him. Someday. _Not_ soon."

"Not soon," Diego whispered. "Thank you," he sighed.

"They'll be coming home from church," Felipe said. "You need a shave. You'll feel better if we tidy you up."

Diego agreed. He looked presentable by the time the others returned. He also seemed a great deal less serious and subdued than he had for the last several days. Felipe hoped his worries preyed less on his mind, but whatever the reason, both his father and brother joined him in his room for lunch and then they spent the afternoon taking turns reading to him, something that Felipe also greatly enjoyed.

The next day Zorro rode out as usual to harass the lancers assigned to tax collection. He had a couple of Diego's little noisemakers, a sack holding six scorpions with their stingers chopped off, and a strange weapon made of a length of braided cord with rocks tied at the ends.

He was back by midmorning, confused and disappointed. "I couldn't find any," he said. "Two patrols went out on the usual route. A small party went to the Alcalde's own land-I promise they're not collecting taxes there...Maybe they've given up."

"Maybe," Diego said.

He and Gilberto shared a look. "Probably not," Gilberto said.

"He's up to something. You should ride into town after siesta. See what the gossip is."

Diego convinced them he was well enough to sit in the library. He made his way out slowly but unassisted and sank into the wingback chair with a satisfied look. "Let me rest a moment, and we'll start you're geometry lesson."

They didn't get the chance, though. While Felipe was getting out the book, there was a pounding at the door. It was one of Don Sebastian's men and he had shocking news. "The fountain in the pueblo has run dry. The patron sent me to tell your father. Early this morning the water...just stopped."

The twins didn't look at one another. "Thank you," Gilberto said quietly. "I'll go fetch Father myself."

"No, there's more, Senor. The alcalde-he has announced that there is water on_ his_ land, and he will share it freely-only there is a fee to travel on his road. Two pesos, which is not so much, but..."

Gilberto ground his teeth. Diego asked quietly, "Another riot?"

"Oh, no, Senor. Everyone is on the road with their wagon and barrels, you see. But the boss, he doesn't like it. He's worried." He lowered his voice. "And Don Roberto is furious. He may start something. We need your father in town."

"We'll get him, thank you."

The front door had barely shut before Gilberto was headed toward the fireplace. "Felipe send one of the boys after father. I'm going to-"

"Not yet," Diego said softly.

"Not yet, what? This is outrageous?"

"What is? He is giving away water. A fee to cross his land isn't illegal. Or even unprecedented."

"He has blocked the fountain water somehow! So people would have to come to him. You know he has. It's extortion. Well, he won't get away with it-"

"We don't know that."

"And he _has_ no water! His ugly little ranch is bone dry nine months of the year!"

"Yes, that interests me a great deal." He cleared his throat. "This is what we are going to do. You will send whomever is in the barn out to fetch father. Then you will take the wagon and Tomas and whomever is left and pay the two pesos for the alcalde's well-I know we got water yesterday, but we need reconnaissance. And I need a sample of that water."

"Diego-"

"Restraint costs us a day. Nothing more. No one will die of thirst, and if this is a trap for Zorro or some other fraud, better you get the lay of the land first."

Without a word, Gilberto turned on his heel and stalked to the barn.

Diego took a deep breath as though he were preparing for another fight. "Now. Felipe. I need to go the laboratory."

Oh, no.

"Felipe, I've let you fuss over me for days. I've cooperated with everything. But now there is important work to do-"

"You've been sick!"

"I'm well enough to do this. Felipe. You promised me my freedom... I need it now, to make sure that Gilberto does the right thing. Please, don't make a fight of this."

Felipe gave in. He held Diego's hand as he went down the stairs-just in case, but he was steady on his feet-and settled him at the desk (seated in a real chair, rather than at the worktable, perched on a stool) and scampered around to fetch the equipment he asked for. "Now, Felipe, the water in the pitcher in my room, that's from the fountain in town?"

Felipe nodded.

"Bring it here, please."

Felipe forced himself to turn away and leave the cave. When he got back, Diego was still fine. He had taken off his dressing gown and was working in his nightshirt. He was setting narrow, round-bottomed glass bottles in a rack. "Oh, yes. That's enough. Now we need another sample. Some different water."

Different _water_? How different was water going to be? "There is a barrel in the kitchen..."

"No, I mean water from a different source. Water, depending on where it comes from, has different properties, different minerals dissolved in it. I need to know how much the water in the area varies. Gilberto is bringing me back a sample. I suppose, I suppose I could sent you to the Segovia place to bring back a canteen. Their well is still flowing."

Different water. Felipe went to the niche in the rock they used to collect the cave drip for Toronado.

Diego's eyes widened. "Of course. Perfect. I'm such an idiot. Well, then, we're ready with our first two samples..."

He began measuring out small amounts of water into the tubes. Then he added drops from various bottles. One of the 'samples' turned light blue. Another bubbled a little. Another stank. Felipe kept careful notes, but although he wrote down what Diego said, he had not gone far enough in the chemistry book to know what any of it meant.

After about an hour, Diego laid a hand on his arm. "I need you to go keep watch in the stable. Father will stop by the house before going to town. If he can't find me... Felipe, you have to make sure I'm waiting for him in the house."

"I don't want to leave you alone."

"I am very comfortable, here. It's cool and the air is very...light. It's much easier to breathe. And I'm not working with anything explosive or corrosive or very poisonous."

_Poison_? Felipe raised his brows.

"Well, arsenic. But it's much diluted. Felipe, please."

Felipe sighed. He would go, of course. He couldn't let Diego beg.

He waited for more than half a hour before he saw a rider coming over the hill. From this distance he couldn't be sure it was Dulcinea, but it would take time to get Diego back into the house, so he assumed that this was it and ran back to the house.

He got Diego settled on the settee in the library scarcely a minute before Don Alejandro came striding in. He was surprised and pleased to see Diego up. "You are looking better."

"Thank you, Father. How much-?"

"Do I know of what is going on? Hardly anything. Your brother sent Pepe out after me. The boy was practically incoherent. Felipe was better with messages at that age, and he-well, never mind. What is happening?"

Diego quickly explained the problem with the water in the plaza and what the alcalde had done. "I've sent Gilberto out to buy some of the alcalde's water. You won't know what to do until we know the lay of things. He's left his sword here."

"Oh. Well. Good idea." He paused. "Diego, I've never seen your brother fight. If it came to it...could he...could he beat Ramone?"

Diego blinked. "I'm quite sure he could," he said mildly.

"I would say that was a load off my mind...But even if he fights and wins...Ramone is a spiteful loser. In the long run..."

"In the long run, it's best if he keeps his temper and uses his brain rather than his sword. He knows it."

"Diego...he's been very angry. And there is only so far he can be pushed..."

"He is furious," Diego admitted, "but he's thinking. You don't need to worry."

You don't need to worry? That statement was just so outrageous! Felipe swallowed hard and held absolutely still. True, Gilberto wasn't going to get the family in trouble by doing something obvious and stupid, but there was still a great deal to _worry_ about! Felipe worried about Zorro frequently, even though he was pretty sure he still didn't like him very much.

But Don Alejandro never glanced in his direction, never saw Felipe's consternation. He hurried out for a fresh horse so he could ride to town and meet Don Sebastian. When Felipe returned from the window after watching him trot out the gate, he asked Diego if he needed to go back to the cave.

"No, the only experiments still running need to dry overnight so I can look at the crystals that form. I can't do anything until Gilberto gets back with the other water sample. Hm. Which may mean I will be doing experiments in the middle of the night. Don't look at me like that. I have been sleeping for days. It feels good to have something to occupy my mind. Here. I'll take a nap? All right? Soon. Just go fetch my maps first and let me look at something and then, I promise, I will rest. All right?"

Felipe knew he had no choice but to agree.

In the end, it was Gilberto doing experiments at night in the cave that night. Diego, after his busy day, simply did not have the strength. He slept until suppertime, and when he woke he was fretful and unfocused. He wouldn't eat and complained of a headache.

When he returned from fetching the water, Gilberto questioned Felipe thoroughly about everything Diego had done, said, or looked at. He hmmed over the notes Felipe had taken, found the map Diego had laid out...and, apparently, started the experiments all over again with the water from the alcalde's land.

Felipe didn't watch him do it. Instead, he stayed with Diego, mostly sleeping in the chair and sometimes watching Diego's restless sleep and fretting uselessly. He was awakened at dawn by Gilberto creeping in. Gilberto sat on the edge of Diego's bed-and was very still for a long time, just looking. At last he reached out and nudged Diego's shoulder.

Diego's eyes slitted slowly-and then suddenly grew round. "You found it," he whispered.

"Yes, I found it. I saw the map, and the tests are quite conclusive. You are a genius, by the way. That bastard. But we've got him."

Felipe clapped once for attention. "Got what?" he asked.

Gilberto grinned at him. He looked more like a wolf than a fox. "The alcalde's water and the fountain water? It's the same water: almost no sulfur, little bit of bromide, no iron to I could detect...and dolomite. He didn't just block the fountain's source and offer his own, he _diverted_ the fountain water and is charging people to get to it. Which is...so much worse than what I'd originally thought. Dear, Diego. You were right. But we have him now."

"What do you have in mind?" Diego asked.

"Well, first off, I'm getting a few hours' sleep. And then I'm taking all of your explosives and releasing the water. All right, _yes_, I plan to be a bit more careful than that. Probably a certain amount of math will be involved, and another reconnaissance trip, and I might have to wait until nightfall to act, what with all the peasants and carts and lancers on guard... But I promise you, by tomorrow the pueblo will have its water back."

Don Alejandro assumed Gilberto was sleeping in because he'd spent the night sitting with Diego. It was close enough to the truth; he'd been finishing Diego's work. Distracted with the water shortage and the wild dogs and Diego's convalescence, he didn't even notice Gilberto's extra trip to the water hole. Every barrel the de le Vegas owned (that wasn't already full of wine or flour) was full of water...

They -and it was 'they,' because Felipe had a part -made their move just before dawn the following day. There were only a couple of guards and the first wagons hadn't begun to arrive yet. Zorro showed himself and the guards briefly gave chase. They didn't completely abandon their posts, but Gilberto had not expected them to.

Gilberto's plans were getting nearly as elaborate as Diego's own. Felipe was behind the ridge, lighting the fuses on a set of Diego's little noisemakers. Then he leapt onto Sunshine and was halfway down the hill when the snaps went off, peppering the air like gunshot. When he had crossed the draw and reached the cover of the low, thorny bushes, he turned back: the soldiers were off their horses, crouched behind rocks, cautiously firing up the hill.

Zorro was a shadow behind them. It would take only a couple of minutes to set the explosives-real ones, this time, not some of Diego's toys. Felipe tapped Sunshine with his heels and urged the horse forward as quickly as he dared over the rough ground in such poor light.

He hadn't gone a hundred yards when the ground shook with a larger explosion.

_~tbc_


	6. March 5, 1808

**March 5, 1808**

It was always pleasant when Carlos was the judge for spring roundup. Alejandro could admit to himself that his best friend could be hard to get along with, was at the edge of lazy, and was frustratingly shortsighted, but no one could claim he was dishonest or greedy. His reputation for both fairness and generosity was so solid that no one bothered to argue with his decisions: the disgruntled party who tried it would be laughed off the line.

Without the arguing and fistfights, the process moved noticeably faster.

Carlos eyed the unbranded strays, nodding to himself. "Montoya, de Costa, Martinez, Pascal, de le Vega, Segovia," he counted, ticking the cattle off with a finger.

Fair. Carlos was fair. The calf he'd assigned his best friend was big, but scrawny and mean, and Alejandro didn't even have the satisfaction of blaming it on the mare Carlos had been trying-unsuccessfully-to convince him to sell all year. It was the luck of the draw, fair and square.

Gilberto, who'd been sitting sideways on his saddle while he waited for the strays to be assigned, flipped himself forward and trotted over to cut out the calf and chase him over to the holding pen where a couple of de le Vega vaqueros waited to brand the strays.

The calf dodged. He was bad-tempered, actually trying to _charge_ 'Berto twice. Gilberto's mount danced side to side, forcing the calf backward toward the gate.

"Well?" Diego called, hopping off the fence. "Quit playing around."

"Quiet, there, Senor Lazy. Some of us are working," Gilberto called back. The calf broke and turned, rushing away from Gilberto and right toward the fence and Diego. Diego hopped lightly to his left and dropped a rope neatly around the calf's neck. Without seeming to hurry, he threw the animal and looped the rope around three of its feet. Tying off the rope, he nodded to the vaqueros waiting at the fire and then stood up to face Alejandro. "Question," he signed, "Cut it?"

Well Alejandro certainly wasn't going to let that mangy, stringy, cantankerous creature breed. He nodded. Diego nodded back, drew his knife, and made the steer. As old Mano laid the brand, Diego looked up at his brother. "Well?" he called. "Haven't you got any more? Or was this one, poor, sorry beast all you could handle?" The effect was spoilt, though, when the ornery animal struggled and kicked out and Diego nearly tripped as he scampered out of the way.

Gilberto nearly fell out of the saddle laughing. "Clearly, he's all that you can handle!"

Alejandro blinked hard in the sunlight. It was a silly little moment, one like hundreds of others, and yet he thought he might remember it forever. His magnificent sons, his boys and that ridiculous calf.


	7. Aug 16, 1813

**Aug 16, 1813**

It was early and warm, but overcast. The thin, high clouds wouldn't pour out rain any time soon, but they did blunt the glaring sun and make the morning more bearable. Felipe was on a ladder, hanging a bird house in the courtyard. Diego sat below, his feet up on a basket stool, watching. Felipe had made the birdhouse himself, and when he had seen it, Diego had admired it very much and suggested hanging it right away. It hadn't been a particularly bad night, and Diego was in good spirits...

There weren't any good nights anymore. Even when he wasn't actually ill, Diego was restless and uncomfortable. Don Alejandro and Gilberto had taken to sending Felipe back to his own room on the worst nights and alternated sitting with Diego themselves. Felipe had to admit that he needed to sleep sometimes, but it irked him that they thought he couldn't manage the job himself.

He always felt guilty anyway, sleeping when Diego was struggling. But, of course, someone needed to be with him during the day as well. And sometimes...he was glad not to watch.

"Felipe, that looks very nice. Are you still fussing with it because you are avoiding the chemistry lesson?"

Felipe peeked down under his arm to grin. "Avoiding math, not chemistry," he signed with one hand.

Diego laughed.

On the ground, Felipe presented himself willingly for the chemistry lesson. Diego had laid out the lap desk and paper. "Draw a still," he said.

"I did it yesterday," Felipe answered, disappointed.

Diego nodded reasonably. "With your notes. Today, do it without. And label the parts. Tomorrow, you will start collecting the materials to build one."

Oh. Felipe wasn't positive he could do that, but he didn't let on. "Are we making-" he realized the signs were the same, and took up the paper. "Brandy or vodka?" he wrote.

"Just what is _in_ those Russian translations of 'Berto's you've been reading? You will be making neither brandy nor vodka, in any case..." He coughed tightly. "I'm not even sure if vodka is distilled."

"It would be a good experiment," Felipe suggested, laughing. "Shame it's such a bad year for potatoes."

Diego coughed again, and Felipe handed him the cup of water. The cough was new, appearing in the last few days. There was no fever, though, and Diego insisted it was nothing. Felipe was fairly sure he was lying about that.

"Your diagram," Diego prompted gently.

Felipe uncapped the ink and got started. It was always a little bit embarrassing to draw anything for Diego. Diego didn't do it much any more, but Felipe remembered his talent. He could draw birds that looked just like live ones and bulls that seemed to move. Felipe was quite good at woodworking, but art like Diego's was far beyond him. He worked slowly and carefully on the lines. He would make a drawing that was clear, at least, if not elegant.

Felipe had the basic shape of the still laid out when Don Alejandro appeared in the doorway. He'd gone in with Tomas on the water trip that morning, but he hadn't returned with the wagon. He stepped into the courtyard and regarded Diego for a long moment.

"What is it, Father?"

"Well. That new priest has arrived. He came in from Santa Barbara last night."

Diego brightened. "Oh? Did you speak with him? I hope you gave him my regards."

Don Alejandro nodded. "Perhaps you'd like to go into town..." he suggested. "It's market day." He paused. "You haven't been in a while, you must be bored here."

Diego glanced at Felipe. "If you wouldn't mind cutting the lesson short?" he teased.

Felipe pretended to consider thoughtfully. "It would be a good opportunity to cheat and look at the book."

Diego laughed. "Is it cheating when you announce your attentions?" He rose slowly and started to gather the books. Felipe waved him off and motioned him on.

When he had disappeared into the house, Felipe turned to Don Alejandro, who had not moved. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"This priest...he is not the man Diego described. He is...I scarcely know what to say. One can't speak ill of a priest. But this man...he does not seem...kind?"

Felipe frowned. "Did we get the right one?" he asked.

He sighed. "Teodoro Benitez."

Felipe shrugged. That was right. They hadn't sent the wrong priest. He collected the remains of the lesson and followed Diego into the house to get ready for the trip to town.

He halted the rig at the church, but when he started to follow Diego inside, Diego shook his head. . "I may be a while, and you haven't had any free time in a few weeks. Why don't you meet me at the tavern later?"

So Felipe watered the horses, tied the rig at the tavern, and headed to the blacksmith's. Before he got there, though, he found Innocente in the plaza bargaining for a new hat. He was happy enough for the company, and Felipe joined him.

"What's new?" Felipe asked. He hadn't been to town since the alcalde had tried to seize the public fountain and charge people for their own water as a matter of 'public good.'

Innocente shook his head and snorted. "We got a new priest. He's _not_ pleased with the church. Or the workers. Or the poor."

"The poor?" Felipe asked, confused. To hear them talk, the priests loved the poor better than anybody.

"He's put a stop to gleaning. He says it's _stealing_. I dunno." He glanced around and lowered his voice. "Can priests be crazy?"

Felipe thought about that. "Probably not." Maybe not. It didn't seem to be the kind of thing God would countenance... "Maybe he doesn't think they have enough."

Together, they peered past the cheese stall and looked at the looming, white adobe church.

Innocente said, "The church has a really nice orchard and vineyard. And they have the best vegetable garden. Sometimes we trade nails for tomatoes and squash, you know? They always grow more than they can use over there. And they get wheat and barley from the mission..."

Felipe shrugged.

"So, hey. You weren't here to see last week. Zorro was in town! He teased the lancers into chasing him and got away."

Zorro himself hadn't said much about that little jaunt. Don Alejandro had been in town and seen the whole thing, so Felipe had heard about it. He guessed that the stupid and pointless stunt was just because Gilberto was frustrated and worried about Diego and had needed to do _something_.

Innocento went on and on about Zorro. Felipe managed not to laugh.

When Innocento went back to work, Felipe headed to the tavern. He expected to get there before Diego, but Diego was already sitting with Sergeant Mendoza. Diego was nodding agreeably, while the sergeant talked about beans, comparing the properties of different varieties and worrying about the effects of the drought on what was left of the crop.

Diego had already ordered Felipe tamales, which Victoria always made special for market day. Although Diego hadn't cleaned his own plate, as soon as Felipe was finished, he excused himself and led the way back to the rig.

It seemed very odd to Felipe, who had expected to spend most of the day in town. He scrambled into the rig and took the reins. When the plaza was well behind them, Felipe asked one-handed, "We're early. What happened?"

"He would not see me," Diego answered.

Felipe glanced over and frowned. "He wasn't there?"

"When the warden Carlito went to tell him I was there...he came back with the reply that the father was too busy today to socialize and I should come back in a few days."

Felipe gaped. All he could think was that Innocente was right and this new priest was crazy. He had just arrived in a new town, was alone in a sea of strangers and here was a friend he'd been trading letters with for years-and he was too busy to see him?

Of course, people didn't generally refuse to see visitors anyway, even if they didn't know them. It was very rude. And Felipe couldn't remember the last time anyone had refused to see a de le Vega. Even the alcalde-who disliked everyone and loathed Don Alejandro-had never refused to talk to them. Sometimes he kept Don Alejandro waiting, but never for very long, nothing ever _too_ impolite...

He was unable to escape the obvious fact that this new priest had _snubbed _Diego. It made no sense any way he looked at it, but there was no other conclusion.

Felipe glanced sideways at Diego. He seemed...distracted? thoughtful? Not angry, and wasn't that strange? Because this sort of deliberate insult, you couldn't just ignore it. Or could you, from a priest? After all, how could you feud with a priest?

He glanced over again. Diego was fussing with a loose button on his jacket. His eyes were distant. Felipe would have loved to know what he was thinking, but he didn't ask.

When they got home it was siesta time. Instead of slipping off to the cave as he often did when the house was quiet, Diego went to his room without protest and took a nap.

He was still lying down when Don Alejandro came in from the sheep shed. He glanced briefly at the diagram Felipe was finishing and asked, "How did it go in town? What did Diego think of the new priest?"

Felipe winced inwardly. "Diego didn't see him. Too busy."

Don Alejandro blinked. "Diego was busy? With what?"

"The priest was busy."

"The priest," Don Alejandro repeated softly, "was busy."

Felipe shook his head helplessly. He had no explanation.

The new priest was not mentioned-by anyone-in Felipe's presence again that day. After supper Diego sat quietly in one chair in the library, reading. Gilberto sat in another, also reading. Their body positions were the same, even to the way they bent their heads over the book: they looked like matched statues or a pair of bookends, despite their different coloring.

Diego was up three times that night. Not his heart, but coughing and 'uncomfortable.' The cough syrup didn't help, but Felipe gave it to him anyway. They did get a little sleep, and that was good.

Very early the next morning, Don Alejandro collected the twins and Maria into the carriage, assigned Felipe and Tomas as outriders, and took them all to the shore for the day. Diego took off the soft calf-skin shoes he was wearing, rolled up his pants and walked a bit in the edges of the cold surf. Gilberto produced a book of English poetry and began to read aloud, Diego occasionally glancing up the beach and correcting his pronunciation. Since the original and the corrections all sounded like gibberish to Felipe anyway, he took a walk along the shore collecting driftwood for the fire and looking for small crabs. There weren't many interesting shells, and he had to walk carefully: there were slimy plants and a few tar balls scattered about.

It was another cloudy day, and here in the breeze it was almost cool. On his third trip back with an armload of wood, he glanced at Diego, seated now on a rock and paddling his feet in the water. He stopped and looked again. His ankles looked a little swollen. But he hadn't hurt himself. And-_both _of them? He tried to remember if they had been that way the night before, but since Diego had stopped wearing boots, he'd refused help with his shoes...

When had he stopped wearing boots?

Gilberto's hand came down on Felipe's shoulder like a vice. Gilberto turned him away from Diego and propelled him firmly toward the fire Maria was starting. Felipe tossed the wood on the small pile and wiggled free of Gilberto's grasp. "His feet," he signed.

"Ignore it," Gilberto signed back sharply.

"What happened?" Felipe only hesitated a little at disobeying: after all, when had he ever taken orders from the short one?

Angry now, Gilberto leaned over and growled into Felipe's ear, "It's just his illness. It means nothing. Ignore it."

He started to pull away, but Felipe was every bit as angry as Gilberto, even though he wasn't sure what they were fighting over. He thrust his hands into Gilberto's sight even as he turned away. "Liar. It's a bad sign, isn't it?"

Gilberto shoved him hard and spun away. Felipe didn't pursue him this time: he had his answer.

Felipe stripped off his sandals and rolled up his pants and, taking a heavy knife from the picnic basket, clambered out onto the rocks to search for abalone. A few minutes later he looked up to discover that Don Alejandro had followed him out. "Don't be so surprised," he said, answering Felipe's look. "I wasn't always old and correct." He laughed once. "I used to be quite a troublemaker. Sometimes I'm very surprised at those two polite, conventional sons of mine." He had a small knife and a rock he was using together like a chisel and hammer to pry the shells off the rocks.

The abalone, along with bread and beans Maria had brought from home, made a tasty lunch. After they'd eaten, Diego laid out a blanket in the shade of some rocks and napped for a while. He woke soon, though, with that look that said he needed to sit up and breathe. To distract him a little, Felipe sat on the blanket and asked him questions about the sea birds.

They had that, at least. There was always something new to ask Diego. He seemed to know everything, to find everything interesting. He could be drawn out of himself with simple or obscure or beautiful things. Still. Even though his illness was such a palpable thing.

That evening they returned home just after sundown. Don Alejandro had a letter waiting for him. "There's no ship in," Gilberto said, surprised.

"Oh, no..." Don Alejandro said slowly. "No. It's from our new priest." He rolled the words out slowly and thoughtfully. "He has sent one to all the caballeros. He's asking us to triple our offerings to the parish."

Gilberto craned his neck around his father's broad shoulder. "It looks more like a demand than a request."

"Does he give a reason?" Diego asked softly.

"Something about renovating the sanctuary," Gilberto said.

"It's not in need of renovation," Diego protested. "And it's well funded."

"Yes," Don Alejandro said. "Well. Perhaps he needs a new bookkeeper. Yesterday he was implying that the warden had been stealing from the church..."

"I do not understand," Diego whispered. "This is not..."

"I know." Don Alejandro sighed. "Not the man you hoped for." He folded the letter. Slowly. Creasing the lines as he went. "Not what any of us hoped for. Tomorrow, I will go into town and talk with him. Perhaps I should invite Don Sebastian and Don Antonio as well. Perhaps you would care to join us?"

Diego nodded silently. He seemed strangely distant, and Felipe nudged his arm to ask if he was all right. "I should get some sleep," he answered, "if we're going out early tomorrow." It wasn't an answer to the question.

When Felipe joined him in his room a few minutes later, though, he wasn't preparing for bed but seated at the desk, sorting through a box of old letters. Oh. The priest. Felipe sighed. Diego barely seemed to notice him, just signed absently that Felipe should get ready for bed.

Felipe changed into a nightshirt and checked over his list of parts for the still he was supposed to build. What did they have in the shed, what did he need to buy, what could be rigged from materials on hand? Diego said they actually _needed_ a still, so he should make a good job of it, not just throw something together to show how it would work...

When the moon rose, Felipe made another try at urging Diego to bed. Instead, Diego glanced at the time and said, "Would you get him for me?"

Gilberto. Of Course. Although what they could need to talk about _now_-

Felipe went and got him.

"I want you to investigate," Diego said. "I wish I could say what I think you are looking for or where you will find it, but..."

Gilberto sat slowly on the other chair. "Diego, this personal disappointment-" he began carefully. "Whatever is going on with this friend of yours-"

"Is not personal, 'Berto. Not the way you mean. He is compelled. Or it is an imposter. Or...some plot of the alcalde's. I don't know what it is, but it is _something_. And I want to know what Zorro can find out before Father confronts him tomorrow."

"But you can't tell me what I'm looking for. Or where to look. I suppose you want me to search the rectory and the office."

"And Ramone's office."

"Of course you do."

Gilberto fussed, but he went. Of course he went. For Diego he would do anything.

When he came back before dawn, Diego was half an hour into a bad heart seizure. He had moved into the chair by the window and held hard to Felipe's hand. The cough seemed to make the breathlessness much worse.

Gilbert came in apologizing. He had found nothing. He'd seen Father Benitez's papers: he had one of Diego's own letters among them. As for the church, the alcalde's office, everywhere he had looked, every conversation he'd overheard...nothing seemed out of order.

Diego nodded that he understood, but he couldn't spare any attention from breathing to discuss the matter. Gilberto pulled up the stool, sat down at Diego's feet, and began to quietly recite poetry.

The attack ended so suddenly that Diego slipped into sleep before Felipe could get him shifted to the bed. Gilberto brushed off his consternation. "When his heart is this bad, the more he sits up the better he feels. Let him be," he whispered. He passed his hands over his eyes. "How much sleep has he had?"

"A lot," Felipe signed broadly in the dim room. "He was good until a little while ago."

Gilberto rubbed his eyes again. "I'm almost sorry. If he slept in tomorrow...he wouldn't go into the pueblo and argue with this old 'friend' of his. Damn."

"What can we do?"

"Drug him?" Gilberto whispered bitterly. "No, I didn't mean that, I haven't given up, I swear. Go back to town and strangle that priest? Tempting but impossible. We carry on. As best we can. I'm going to get what sleep I can, since we appear to be going to church tomorrow."

When they arrived in town the following morning, they found it in an uproar. The church steward, Carlito, had been arrested for embezzling church funds and stealing the plate. Victoria was up in arms. Where was the evidence? Where were the witnesses? Was he to be held for the magistrate or tried by military expedience?

The other merchants were shocked and outraged, but they hadn't seemed to make up their minds if the cause of their outrage was corruption in the bosom of the church or the unjust persecution of a longstanding member of the community.

"I should send you home," Diego said quietly as Gilberto steadied him getting out of the carriage. If Gilberto went home, Zorro could appear.

"Aside from the fact that someone would notice, the last time you weren't closely supervised at a public disruption you got yourself arrested."

"Oh. Now," Diego protested, almost smiling. "That's hardly fair. I mean you can't blame me-"

"Little Brother, tell Father you're ill, and I will have the excuse of taking you home."

Diego glanced at the church. "No," he said. "Let's find this priest of ours."

They found the thin, black-haired man kneeling in prayer before the alter. Diego motioned them to wait, bowed at the aisle, and went up to kneel politely beside him.

The priest took no notice. Diego bowed his head piously and was still for long minutes. The priest shifted restlessly, then rose-

Diego politely caught his arm. Felipe could not see what he said or what the priest answered. It was a short conversation. When it was finished, Diego was utterly calm. He venerated the alter, nodded politely to the priest, and returned down the aisle. When he paused to light a candle, Felipe realized that he had not held out his hands to the priest for a blessing. And the priest had not reached to give one.

"What now?" Gilberto asked as he followed his brother out into overcast morning.

"There is one thing I do not yet know," Diego answered.

He walked calmly to the alcalde's office. It was chaos inside. "I demand you wait for the magistrate," Don Sebastian was growling. "You do not have the authority."

"I have the duty," the alcalde was saying sweetly. "Only the chalice was found under the man's cot. The rest of the church's silver is still missing. He must be forced to confess and reveal the whereabouts of the rest of his ill-gotten gains before any accomplices spirit it away."

"It was found under his cot? His own cot? What kind of mad thief would steal something that would be immediately missed and hide part of the loot under his cot? You must see that this is _evidence_ is falsely laid!" Don Alejandro exploded.

"Who accused him?" Victoria demanded. "Surely _that_ is the man who stole the church's silver."

The alcalde smiled patiently. "Why, the good father himself discovered the crime. Surely he is above suspicion."

That set off another round of outrage and confusion among the gathered protesters. Diego took the opportunity to approach Ramone himself. "Senor Alcalde, a word?" he said mildly.

"Ah. Don Diego." For a moment a flicker of some worry seemed to pass Ramone's eyes. But then he smiled very pleasantly and held out his hand. "Always a pleasure to speak with you."

"I was wondering if you were aware that the man presenting himself as Teodoro Benitez is, in fact, an imposter."

Ramone barely bothered to blink at this shocking pronouncement. "Why, Don Diego. Whatever do you mean?"

"Since before I left for Madrid, I have been in correspondence with the real Father Benitez. The man currently in our church...is not him."

"My Goodness. What a thing to say." His look of concern was more a mockery than a pretense. "Are you feeling quite well? Perhaps you should sit down."

Diego nodded once. "Thank you," he said. "That is all I needed to know." He turned and quietly left. Half the people in the room had probably not noticed he'd been there at all. He crossed the plaza to the fountain, but he had to stop there to get his breath.

Gilberto laid a hand on his back. "Diego. I know what you're thinking."

"Then you know that I'm right-'Berto! You _know_ that I'm right."

"I know I need to take you home."

Diego shrugged off his brother's hand and stepped back. "We don't have time to sit around and argue about this. He may still be alive."

"I am not following your evidence. I can see your conclusion-"

"That should be enough!" Diego stormed off toward the coach, leaving Felipe and Gilberto to follow him helplessly.

The carriage was out of the pueblo before Diego had his breath back enough to continue the argument. "You cannot think poor Carlito is a thief," Diego said.

"What that proves is that the new priest is a horrible idiot...or possibly corrupt."

"And I? Am I an idiot? I have a dozen letters from the man. Sketches of two species of bird _he _first identified. Do you think the man who wrote me deceived me so completely about his nature? Even if I were that thick, what would be the point, particularly if he were going to abandon the charade the moment we met?"

"That is the best point you've made so far. And the _only_ point not based on your personal disappointment. Tell me. What did you ask him in the church?"

"I didn't ask him anything. I told him who I was and that I knew he was a fraud."

"How subtle." But he nodded slowly. "Well, his reaction was interesting. He certainly didn't look surprised."

"He said if I wanted to see the real priest alive again, I'd keep my mouth shut."

"Well. You might have mentioned this sooner."

Diego gave him an unforgiving look. "I had no idea you'd be an ass about it."

"I see you defied him."

Diego closed his eyes. "Teodoro Benitez is almost certainly dead. And any hope he has lies not with that criminal, but with you." A tear slid free, and Diego brushed it away angrily.

Gilberto took the reins from Felipe and urged the horses into a run.

When they reached the house, Felipe and Gilberto went straight to the cave. Diego appeared just as Felipe had finished saddling Toronado. "I'm coming with you," he stated.

Gilberto stopped fussing with his hat and set it down. "Oh. Really. To do what, exactly? Revenge? That would please your gentle priest." He folded his arms.

Diego's eyes hardened. "Felipe, when you're finished here, saddle Dulcinea."

Gilberto ignored this. "I don't know what you could add anyway, in terms of vengeance. If he's killed a priest, this man will be drawn and quartered. And then he will go to hell. You couldn't top that even if you had a talent for torture."

"You don't understand-"

"You are terrified and grieving. Thank you, I do understand that. If you are going, I am not."

Diego stood there for a long moment, silently demanding his brother give in. Gilberto stood there, angrily refusing.

"I'm a better tracker," Diego said.

"I will manage."

"An innocent life-"

"If you think there is a life in this world-innocent or otherwise-that I value as much as yours, you are profoundly mistaken."

Diego spun on his heel and stalked out.

Felipe realized his hands were shaking. He forced himself to check Toronado's hooves.

Gilberto leaned against the worktable with his head bent. He straightened suddenly and grabbed up the reins. "Go to him. Go. Don't leave him. He's libel to do anything now."

Dreading the mood Diego was in, Felipe trudged up the steps. He didn't see anyone when he looked through the peephole, but when he opened the hidden door, he found Diego sprawled on the floor of the library. His eyes were open and his hands were pressed against the floor, but he couldn't rise.

Felipe threw himself down on the tiles, his hands too busy searching for the pulse to try to say anything reassuring. And then, for horrible seconds, he couldn't _find_ a pulse. Diego clearly wasn't dead. He was breathing, he was moving, his eyes met Felipe's-

There. Slow. Far too slow. Impossibly slow.

Felipe panicked. Maybe if he ran he could catch Gilberto-

Diego caught him by tangling a hand in Felipe's sash. "No," he gasped. "I'm all right."

How could you even argue with this? All right? All right? He was crumpled in a heap on the floor.

"A mistake. A miscalculation." Diego breathed in and sighed. "My medication. A mistake. I will be fine."

Shocked, Felipe dropped back onto his rear. He sat helplessly on the cool floor of the library for long, confused seconds.

Diego's color wasn't good and he had given up trying to rise.

"What do we do?" Felipe asked with numb fingers.

"Thank you," Diego whispered. "Yes. You will need help to get me into bed. You cannot lift me. And then...I think you must...send for the doctor." He coughed. "I will not have you...deal with this alone."

The hour spent waiting for the doctor was bad. Diego was clearly in pain, though he refused to admit it. His stomach rebelled twice. He was drenched in sweat, though his hands and feet were ice cold. His breathing came in exhausted gulps.

The two hours after the doctor had banished him from Diego's room were somehow worse. Bad enough to watch Diego suffer, but to wonder, unable to see him at all, was a nightmare. Felipe paced the hall, wondering how bad things were, wondering if Diego had told him the truth about being all right, wondering when Gilberto would come back...he worried about everything he could think of, and then he started over and worried about it all again.

Exhausted, he gave up pacing and sat on the floor, his back against the wall and his knees drawn up under his chin. He was like that when Don Alejandro came in. "The doctor's horse is tied outside," he said.

"It's not bad," Felipe's hands fumbled. "It's...he's... Diego."

Don Alejandro drew him up and led him into the parlor. He poured a glass of water and handed it to him. Felipe had to hold it with both hands, but he found he was terribly thirsty and drained it in one long gulp.

"All right, child," he said gently. "Sit down and tell me what happened."

Felipe managed to set the glass down without dropping it. "Diego made a mistake with his medicine. He fainted. He asked me to send for the doctor." The words were awkward and stiff, but he got them out.

"Diego made a _mistake_? He made a mistake and then he _asked_ you..."

Felipe nodded.

"Where is his brother?"

Felipe hadn't even retained the presence of mind to expect this question. How could he choose a lie, let alone support one? "He is looking for the priest. The real priest."

"Oh, Heavenly Father!" Don Alejandro ran his fingers through his coarse hair and sighed. "I had nearly forgotten." He checked his pocket watch and crossed himself. "How have we come to this?" he asked the air.

It was another half hour before the doctor appeared. He was carrying the small notebook Diego used to keep track of his medication. The doctor smiled wearily as he took the chair Don Alejandro offered. "It's good news," he said. "He has responded quite well to the stimulants. Excellent news, since I don't dare give him anything stronger. He's resting now, your woman Maria is with him. I expect he'll...well, he'll be much better by morning."

"Felipe said Diego made a mistake with his medicine?"

A heavy nod: "That is one of the things we need to talk about."

Don Alejandro considered him for a moment, and then poured the doctor a glass of wine. "All right," he said. "I'm listening."

"The first thing to say is that we were lucky. Too much digitalis is a serious problem. The same mistake with cinchona would have been fatal. Even this mistake, by a slightly wider margin... The fact that he made a mistake he _could_ survive suggests his judgment has not completely failed him."

"But _Diego_," Don Alejandro shook his head in helpless confusion. How could Diego have made the mistake at all? Careful, patient, precise Diego who researched everything?

"Yes. And so...I have to ask if he'd been behaving...oddly," The doctor said gently.

Don Alejandro bristled. "Emmanuel, if you are asking if my son is suicidal-"

"No. Nothing of the kind. I am asking...if he has been confused lately? Or forgetful? If his mind has been...afflicted...?"

"No," Don Alejandro snapped.

"You're sure."

"It is Diego. We would notice." He tipped his head back and studied the ceiling. "He's been losing at chess, but..."

"Upset," Felipe signed miserably. "He was so upset."

The doctor, of course, had no idea what he'd said, but Don Alejandro motioned him to continue.

"He...wanted to search for the priest himself. He ordered me to saddle your horse."

"_My_ horse? Dulcinea?"

"What is he saying?" The doctor asked.

"He ordered Felipe to saddle Dulcinea so he could help search for the missing priest."

"He couldn't possibly-" the doctor said, almost indignantly. "Oh. Well, then. An entire afternoon of poor judgment!"

Don Alejandro looked away. "It seems the mistake is explained."

"Indeed. _Not_ a widening pattern, but a response to a rather extreme situation... Alejandro...the other matter we must discuss is nearly as serious." The doctor held out the little book he'd been holding.

"What is this?" Don Alejandro asked, taking it.

"Diego is very orderly. He has been documenting his symptoms and dosages. It is an exact record of his medication. Alejandro...for the last few weeks...the doses are very high. Most of them are at the maximum that _I _would allow, certainly. Fifty drops of digitalis at a time-that's a full spoonful."

His eyes on the little book, Don Alejandro whispered, "And it's not working."

"Not well enough. He is retaining water."

It seemed a long time before Don Alejandro could answer. "How long?" he asked.

"I couldn't guess. Normally, I'd say a few months, but...he's declined so quickly."

He turned the little book in his hands, almost caressing it. "I understand. Thank you." He handed the book back. "I need to leave in an hour. I must speak to him before then."

"Alejandro, where could you possibly-?"

"To fetch this priest of ours! This-this friend of his! If it isn't already too late..."

"Yes. All right. It might calm him to know that. It is time to check on him again."

Felipe followed them. Quietly. He didn't want to be noticed and sent away, so he stayed in Diego's little sitting room and peered around the corner.

Maria moved out of the way and let the doctor check Diego's pulse and breathing. He seemed to be satisfied because he rose after a moment and gave his place to Don Alejandro.

"Diego, Diego. What have you gotten into now, child?"

Whatever he answered, Felipe could not hear.

"Listen. You were right. About the imposter. Not long after you left town...he disappeared. Diego. He left a ransom note-he's demanded ransom for Father Benitez. Five hundred pesos." He brought out his watch again and sighed at the time. "Diego, I must leave soon, if we are to make it to the delivery point by midnight. I have to leave you."

Diego shook his head. "He must be dead. How can you replace a man and keep him alive?" he wheezed. "Perhaps he even died on the road...and this imposter just an opportunist."

"Diego! Shame on you. When have you ever given up? Hmm? Anyway, I know he _was_ alive, and this villain had him. Here, I have the note. The alcalde claims-never mind. We are taking care of it, the caballeros." He produced a scrap of paper from the pocket where he kept his watch. "There is a message at the end; 'As God cares for the starlings,' does that sound like your birdwatcher? Do you recognize the writing?"

"Oh, yes, that sounds...Let me see..." he reached out. "Starlings, no, oh no..." Diego pushed himself up, gasping. "I know where he is. Gilberto will never find him. He's not near the road."

"Enough!" Don Alejandro took him by the shoulders and pushed him back onto the pillows. "Stop it at once, Diego. If he has given you a clue-tell me! I will find him."

Felipe spun to the desk and took the map of the road north from the shelf.

_~tbc_


	8. Aug 19, 1813

**Aug 19, 1813,**

Felipe slept - badly, unhappily - on the settee in the library. Every part of his body seemed to ache, his throat and eyes most of all. When the secret door opened he shot into wakefulness.

Gilberto, his left foot still in the fireplace, froze. His triumphant grin vanished. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "Where is he?"

"In his room," Felipe answered. It was not quite sunup yet, and the house was very quiet. "They won't let me near him."

"Let you - _who_? Father isn't here. I met him on the road!"

"The doctor - "

Gilberto ran. His boots rang on the hard floor, breaking the miserable quiet of the house. "Diego!" he shouted. "Alive, Little Brother, alive! Do you hear me?" He flung the door open so hard it crashed against the wall. "Alive!"

"Don Gilberto! Control yourself! He must not be - "

Gently, almost politely, Gilbert lifted the doctor aside and raced to the bedside. "Diego? Do you understand? He's alive."

Gilberto had pushed his way in, but Felipe was caught gently by Maria and held in the sitting room. "Felipe, sweetheart, this is no place for a child," she murmured, "Diego is very ill."

She had his hands gently pinned, so he couldn't even argue the point.

"I...I met Zorro on the road. Last night. It was perfect, Little Brother. He rescued the captive and captured the villain," he paused, apparently because Diego was arguing with him, because he protested, "Of course he could. He is Zorro. He didn't waste time wandering willy nilly through the hills looking for the victim. He followed the _kidnapper_." After a moment he laughed. "Yes. Extremely efficient. I wish I'd thought of it."

Maria tried to lead Felipe away, but he - stubbornly, rudely, unforgivably - set his feet and refused to move. He listened to the quieting rumble of Gilberto's voice as he continued to reassure Diego.

And then it was quiet again.

And then Gilberto came into the sitting room. In a voice that could command the sun to stand still in the sky, he said to Felipe, "Go to him. Don't leave him for any reason. If you feel the need to piss, better you should explode than leave that room. Do you understand?"

Felipe nodded gratefully and darted past him.

"Now. Doctor Hernandez. Allow me to offer you some breakfast while we discuss my brother's condition."

There was already a chair by the bed. Felipe sat down and laid his hand over Diego's.

Z

The doctor left not long after Don Alejandro came home. After cleaning up from his long ride, Don Alejandro planted himself in Diego's room. The story he told was more interesting than the version Gilberto had given; when the party from Los Angeles had met Zorro returning with the priest and the imposter, Don Amelio and some of the men had wanted to arrest Zorro as well. Legally speaking, he was a wanted man. The bounty on Zorro's head was bigger than the ransom of the priest had been, after all...

Don Alejandro had kept his sword on the prisoner while Zorro sorted out his disagreement with the ransom party. The fight had been very brief but telling, and when it was over Zorro had politely taken his leave.

Diego slept on and off most of the day. When he was awake he wasn't hungry, but Don Alejandro managed to coax him into eating anyway. By afternoon he was starting to look stronger. What was strange, though, was that except for his brief visit that morning, Gilberto didn't return. Don Alejandro was so reluctant to leave he fell asleep in the chair by the window. Twice. But Diego's brother? Even after he'd had time for a long nap, he didn't appear.

Toward evening, when the cooler wind was blowing from the mountains, Felipe offered, "Shall I get him?"

"Get what?" Don Alejandro asked.

Diego sighed. "Gilberto." He and his father looked at each other. "He needs a little time. Let him alone."

That made no sense at all. Time for what? Zorro's business was finished, wasn't it? "Why?" he asked, although he was not sure that he should.

Diego glanced away.

Don Alejandro rubbed his hands together uncomfortably. At last he said, "Gilberto is very angry, and he is afraid that if he talks to Diego there will be a quarrel...and that would not be good for him...so Gilberto is staying away..."

Angry? At whom? "At Diego? Why?"

Diego reached out and patted Felipe's hand. "He trusted me to take care of myself. The mistake I made yesterday...it would have been bad enough if I'd just misjudged what my body could endure, but I knew it was dangerous. I willingly took a terrible risk, and then forced you all to face the consequences with me. I imagine he feels I let him down. And he's right. I did. I'm not sure why you and Father have been so...forgiving." Diego looked away.

Annoyed, Felipe rolled his eyes and signed in huge, sarcastic shapes, "Diego never makes mistakes! Diego must be perfect!"

Don Alejandro managed a chuckle. "Yes, perhaps he has spoiled us, this one. I think I must forgive this mistake, especially when he has been so kind as to overlook my own."

"What mistake?" Diego asked.

"An hour before anyone else knew it-when we still had the blackguard in our clutches-you denounced the fraud. I should-that should have been my first priority. I should have stopped to think about what you were saying. Diego...if I had been any help at all, you would not have been so desperate that you risked poisoning yourself. I have no defense. I was angry, convinced that Ramone was manipulating the situation with the warden..."

"I had no evidence," Diego said wearily.

"Oh, child," Don Alejandro said.

"Father, this was no one's fault but mine." He was trying to sound certain and stern, but he still sounded only exhausted and a little out of breath.

"Diego," Don Alejandro started to argue, stopped himself. "As you wish. The blame is yours. I condemn you utterly. Satisfied? And now it is forgiven. Let it go."

"Father."

"I will not argue with you. I will not." He smiled. "I forbid you to speak again. Go to sleep."

In a show of compliance, Diego leaned back and said nothing else. But it was a while before he could sleep again. It seemed hard for him to get comfortable, and he still had that cough.

When Diego finally fell asleep, Felipe slipped out and went to the cave. He found Gilberto currying Toronado. His hooves and tack already gleamed.

Felipe relieved him of the curry comb and tossed it onto the worktable. "You are the biggest jerk I know! You are an absolute arse!"

Gilberto looked at him in surprise. After a moment, he said, "I'll accept that since you've never been formally introduced to Luis Ramone."

"I hate you."

Gilberto nodded sadly. "If anyone has a right to denounce me...it's you. But I thought we'd called a truce."

"This isn't about me. This is about Diego."

"Ah." His mouth snapped shut. "Felipe, you may have...you may have a right to complain about me. But what is between myself and my brother-"

"You have no right to be angry! He made a mistake! It was just a mistake! Diego isn't perfect. He is a man, and men make mistakes. If you want to be angry, be angry at God. God saved the priest, and God is letting Diego die."

Very slowly, Gilberto turned around and buried his face in Toronado's mane.

Felipe waited. It occurred to him that, while he wasn't being unjust or unfair, he was being unkind. Gilberto _was_ an idiot and an arse, but he always had been. He couldn't help it. Diego never held the failings people couldn't help against them.

At last Gilberto straightened. He slipped a bridle onto Toronado, mounted bareback, and without a backward look, rode away.

That night, as Diego was finishing his small supper, Gilberto strode in to the room.

Diego set down the spoon. "I am sorry," he said.

"I haven't forgiven you yet. But I wanted you to know...I will."

"I wouldn't...I wouldn't react any differently."

Gilberto compressed his lips and nodded once.

Felipe, Don Alejandro, and Maria took turns sitting with Diego that night. The doctor had left a sleeping drought, though, so they weren't much needed. Diego only woke a couple of times. He probably wouldn't have woken at all except the cough was getting worse.

The next morning the aftereffects of the drug left him sluggish, but his head seemed to clear just before noon. He asked Felipe to help him shave and clean up, and, after a short rest and a meal, demanded that they resume lessons. Since they could not work on building the still, they discussed uses for one. Felipe honestly tried to concentrate, but he could not remember anything they'd said afterwards.

That night Diego refused the sleeping draught. It was only for emergencies, he said. The more you took it the less effective it became. So it wasn't a good night. It wasn't terrible; the heart seizure lasted only about thirty minutes and Diego went right back to sleep afterwards.

The next day he said he was feeling better, but he was still pale and he barely touched the breakfast Felipe brought. On his way back from clearing the dishes he heard a knock at the door. When Felipe opened it, there was a priest on the other side. Instead of the grey robes of the Franciscan friars, he wore the black of a parish priest. He seemed roughly Don Alejandro's age, short, moon-faced and round bodied, and he regarded Felipe with a cheerful benevolence that was almost offensive.

Felipe stared at him.

"I was hoping I might see Don Diego de le Vega," the little man said.

"He's ill. He isn't taking visitors," rudely, Felipe didn't care that the man wouldn't understand the gestures.

To his surprise, the priest responded in stilted Indian signs: "I know he is ill. That is why I came."

Felipe blinked, hating the polite little man looking at him so humbly.

"Felipe," Gilberto said sharply from behind him, "help Diego get ready for a visitor."

His eyes on the floor so no one would see his resentment, he obeyed. Diego, of course, was delighted that the new priest had arrived. He asked Felipe to fetch his dressing gown and moved into the armchair. All too soon, Felipe had to open the bedroom door and invite the stranger in.

It was the oddest meeting Felipe had ever seen. For a long time, Diego and the priest stared openly at one another. Then, instead of saying something polite or pious, the priest said, "So much younger than I expected."

"I'm twenty-four," Diego whispered. He blinked several times. "Is it you? I was - I was so sure he had killed you."

"I am alive...By the grace of God and Zorro and you, so I'm told."

"Me?" Diego asked.

He nodded. "As I understand it, Zorro was investigating only because _you _were so adamant that the imposter could not have been me. He is a spiteful man, not simply greedy. If help had come any later, it would have been too late. I owe my life to your faith in me."

Diego swallowed hard and seemed to come to himself. "Won't you sit down, Father?"

Obligingly, Felipe brought over the desk chair. He didn't put it _too_ near Diego. If the priest noticed the slight, he didn't show it, but politely sat down. "Don Diego, the last letter I have from you was written in February...I had hoped to find you had recovered."

Diego smiled sourly. "I hoped I would _be_ recovered."

"May I ask...?"

Diego nodded.

"What diagnosis have you been given?"

"Too many to count. So far the list includes anemia, intermittent frequent heartbeat - which is a description of symptoms, not a proper diagnosis - spasmodic asthma, hysteria - don't ask me to explain that one, given that I lack the necessary organ-atrophy of the thyroid, atrophy of the kidneys...hmmm," he thought for a moment. "A constitutional tendency toward dropsy which is compromising my other organs, a weakness of the heart muscle which is compromising my other organs, calcification of the heart valves, corrosion of the heart valves...actually, those final two seem by far the most likely to me."

He reached out with his hand. "With your permission?"

Diego nodded.

Felipe could only watch as the priest pushed up Diego's sleeve and poked his arm. He checked Diego's hands and ankles, looked into his eyes, his mouth, tilted his head and examined his neck. He tugged aside the dressing gown and laid his ear against Diego's chest. "I hear an extra sound," he said after a moment.

"Not all of the doctors did," Diego answered quietly. "But it isn't new. According to Gilberto it has always been there. In the last few months, though, it has apparently become much more pronounced."

"Turbulence around some physical obstruction..."

"Yes, it seems likely..."

"And yet you had no symptoms before...?"

"No, until last fall my health was excellent."

"Mmmm." The priest stood and checked Diego's back, patting and tapping. At last he nodded. "What have you tried?"

Diego reached out and took the little notebook from the bedside table and handed it to the priest. "If you want a full account."

He glanced at the last filled pages. "Thank you. Let me have a day or two to consider this? In the mean time, may I offer you the comfort of prayer?"

Diego's leaned tiredly back in the chair. "I would appreciate it," he said.

The priest turned slowly and nodded to Felipe. "You will have to leave us, Child," he said.

Felipe shook his head. He was not going to leave Diego alone with a stranger, priest or not.

"Felipe!" Diego said. "I apologize, Father, he usually...he..."

The priest laid a hand on Diego's arm. "It's all right. I am not surprised the people here are wary of priests. He's not the first to look at me with suspicion-and how could I blame him? After all that's happened I'd keep an eye on any 'new priests' too." He smiled indulgently. "Child - Felipe, is it? I promise you, I will not hurt him. But you see, you must leave us alone. I cannot give him absolution without taking his confession, and he can't confess with a witness."

Felipe could not argue with that.

He could not have argued anyway, not really. Caballeros rarely refused priests, let alone poor folk or children or servants. Felipe had already been far too rude. Father Raphael would not have tolerated it. Diego was surely embarrassed by his behavior.

There was no way to avoid leaving Diego alone with him, so Felipe nodded politely and backed out of the room. He shut the door and sat down on the floor across the hall. He was an impossible enemy, that charming, gracious little man. There was no way to fight him, no way to keep Diego away. Worse, he was intelligent, educated, kind-he was everything Diego admired.

Once already Diego had nearly died for this man, this _nice_ man.

Felipe drew up his knees and rested his forehead on them. It seemed they'd already been in there a long time. How much could Diego have to confess? He hardly _did_ anything anymore.

He heard a strange sound. It wasn't loud or clear. He drew onto his knees and looked up and down the hall, but he was alone and nothing was moving. The sound was _like_ something familiar, but trying to remember only confused him. It wasn't unpleasant. It was-wasn't it?-a human voice.

It was coming from Diego's room.

He surged to his feet and reached for the door and realized that what he heard sounded like church singing.

His hand dropped. Latin? He could read it, more or less, but the sounds of it always escaped him. He could not have made out the words even if they had not been sung and coming through a shut door. The melody wasn't familiar. It didn't sound much like the choir in the parish. It didn't sound like Diego's music lessons either.

Well-surely this priest wasn't giving Diego Final Unction. He wasn't nearly dead. He _wasn't_. Anyway, Felipe was fairly sure that last rites didn't involve singing. He stared hard at the door, but it gave up no answers.

The singing was very pretty. It was making the hairs stand up on the back of Felipe's neck.

Slowly, he stepped backward and sank down to sit against the wall.

The singing continued, slow and mild and so beautiful. Felipe buried his face in his arms and tried to breathe past the terrible knot squeezing his throat.

After a very long time the door opened and the little priest smiled kindly down at him. "Hello, Child. Be very quiet. He is sleeping."

Stiffly, his eyes straight ahead, Felipe squeezed past him and went to the foot of the bed. Diego was asleep. He was on only three pillows, and his cheeks and lips were a little pink. Not much, but a little. It was the best color he'd had in weeks. His hands were relaxed.

Felipe felt a stab of fear. This man had been dangerous enough when he was only someone Diego cared for. The power to call miracles-! Not even Zorro could protect Diego from someone so powerful, let alone little Felipe.

Hesitantly, Felipe turned his eyes to the priest. He still just saw a small, round, innocent, cheerful man. There was no hint of his power except in what he'd done. _What did you do?_

He didn't ask the question, but somehow the priest knew it anyway, because he signed, "I only prayed with him." He smiled benevolently. "Come with me."

Obediently, Felipe followed him through the house and out into the back garden. In the shade of the back courtyard he stopped and regarded Felipe thoughtfully. "You understand that Diego is very ill." It wasn't a question. "The most serous problem at the moment is that he is overwhelmed by water. His body cannot cope with it."

This was possibly the stupidest statement Felipe had never heard. Too much water? There wasn't any water anywhere. It hadn't rained at all this year, and last year had been pretty dry, too.

"We must clear it out before he can begin to recover. Now, what we need-" He stopped and looked around. "This is very well weeded," he said, sounding almost disappointed.

Don Alejandro tended his roses himself. When he was worried about the twins, he often weeded. Since December, he'd been fastidious.

Muttering to himself, the priest wandered to the gate and out into the vegetable garden. This was fairly well weeded, too. He continued toward the edges. At least he bent and plucked a leaf from a scraggly plant growing out from under the fencepost. He held it out to Felipe. "You know this one?"

Certainly. It was wild, but in the early spring Maria put it in salads. Felipe shrugged.

"Diego must eat this. Start with about a handful, before each meal and before bed. Each day, add a handful more until it starts to have an effect. Continue it...at least a week after that. Maybe longer, but Diego will be able to judge."

Felipe regarded the limp, green leaf nervously. He took the leaf and popped it into his mouth. It tasted terrible, and it was chewy and tough.

The priest smiled sympathetically. "Yes, I know. It is very bitter this late in the year. It will still be effective, however." He sighed, a trace of impatience showing. "I am not going to poison him, Child. He will recognize this. And I am sure he has heard of this use, but he is very young, and so he has likely dismissed this simple 'folk remedy.'"

_We do not need your help. Diego has already suffered enough because of you. Go away_, Felipe thought. But he didn't say it. Diego was sleeping so peacefully. He was relaxed and pink, which was a miracle Felipe couldn't manage. "Four times a day," Felipe signed. "Cooked or raw?"

"What - oh! It makes no difference. Cooked it might taste a little better-but not much I'm afraid." He started back toward the house. "In the mean time, when he wakes, he must have a bath. The kind you sit in, you understand? Not too hot and certainly not too cold. That is important. His heart is struggling enough without facing an unnecessary surprise." He glanced sadly at the bedroom wing. "I must leave now, though it feels rude to hurry away. My poor parish has been left in a shambles. You can imagine what state Carlito is in. I will be back in two days. Perhaps I will have some ideas then."

There was no point in disobeying the little priest. He would know and Felipe would get in trouble and Diego would wind up eating the weed anyway. So he collected a basketful and sought Maria's advice on how to make it edible.

Diego woke in the early evening. He was surprised to learn he'd been ordered to bathe, but he complied agreeably. Water you could really sit in was a luxury during the drought and he enjoyed that. And nothing terrible happened. Felipe brought Gilberto in to watch carefully, just in case, but he wasn't needed.

At dinner, Diego ate the bitter salad without complaint. And before bed. The next morning he laughed at the little serving that appeared with breakfast-wilted, this time, in a little bacon and vinegar, but he meekly ate every bite. If it was supposed to be a miracle cure, Felipe saw no evidence of that. Diego was still tired all the time, he was still dizzy every time he stood up, he was still coughing. Felipe increased the size of the serving at lunch and dinner and tried to tell himself he wasn't disappointed that the stranger's medicine was no help.

At least Diego and Gilberto seemed to have made peace. Gilberto came after supper and read for a long time; a play and psalms and rough-sounding English poetry.

The next morning, pretending he wasn't grimacing at his bitter salad, Diego announced that Gilberto could not simply study a little English on his own and fake the rest. It wasn't convincing. Better, he said, to teach English to Felipe and use that to conceal also making Gilberto truly proficient.

Felipe was already finding it impossible to concentrate on history, geometry, chemistry, literature, or Latin. He wasn't sure he could have made any progress in music, even if Diego had been up to playing to piano. He didn't argue, though, and the first lesson was underway when the new priest arrived. This visit was more social than the one before, more normal. Diego and Gilberto offered the priest tea and chatted about Mexico City and Madrid and local wildlife and theology and botany. Only at the very end did the priest produce the small notebook and turn the conversation to Diego's health.

"You've been very thorough," he said seriously. "I have little to add, I'm afraid. Have you tried the foxglove as a tea, rather than in a tincture. The taste would be...awful, and it is more complicated to prepare, but it might be more effective."

"I could not keep it down," Diego answered.

"Ah. And the dandelion?"

Diego shrugged. "I think it is increasing my appetite, but...nothing else, yet."

"Give it a little more time. I have found nothing more reliable."

When the priest left he blessed everyone, of course. Felipe couldn't meet his eyes.

The visit hadn't been long, but Diego was exhausted. He napped on and off for the rest of the day. Don Alejandro, who had come home early from the north range, sat with him.

Gilberto, unsettled and unhappy, sat for a while in the library with Felipe and tried to continue the English lesson without Diego, but neither of them was very interested. At last Gilberto closed the book and tossed it aside. "I'm going to exercise the horse," he said. So Felipe sat by himself and pretended to study.

That night Diego woke him, calling, "Felipe, I'm sorry. Felipe?"

Startled, Felipe scrambled out of his bedroll. Diego was sitting on the side of the bed, his feet dangling. Felipe squinted in the dim moonlight. Diego looked more abashed than ill. "I've filled the pot, I'm sorry. And I need to go again."

That didn't make any sense. Diego never filled the chamber pot. Never. Since he'd started spending most of the day in his room, Felipe had emptied and cleaned it three times a day, but it never had much in it.

"Felipe? I'm sorry, but I'm in rather a hurry..."

Blearily, Felipe lifted the bucket. It was full. Felipe carried it out to the privy, navigating carefully through the dark house. When he got back Diego was almost comically glad to see him.

"What's going on?"

"Let's talk about it tomorrow?" Diego suggested.

The next morning the chamber pot was full again. And it needed tending again directly after breakfast. "What_ is_ this?" Felipe demanded. "Is this some kind of joke?"

Diego laughed but he glanced nervously at the full bucket. "Don't tell anyone yet," he said. "It is too soon to be sure of anything."

"Sure of what? That you have been hiding all this under the bed?"

"Felipe...all of this was inside me."

Well, obviously. There _was_ no where else for it to come from. But-there wasn't anywhere in a person to put all this, either. Felipe had seen sheep and hogs and cattle butchered, and yes, the inside of animals was kind of wet, but not wet like this. And the insides were crowded. The only open space was the lungs, maybe, and not much there...With a dawning horror, Felipe tried to picture how those pots and pots of water could possibly have fit inside someone's body. _Oh, poor Diego. You were drowning_.

He didn't realize he'd shaped the words until Diego nodded slowly and said, "Yes, it rather felt like that at times."

Felipe swallowed hard. "How do you feel now?" he asked.

Diego laughed once. "Lighter, although I might be imagining that. And I can take a deep breath."

"You haven't coughed since last night," he realized.

Diego shook his head. "No. Hardly at all."

Felipe smiled.

"No, not yet," Diego cautioned. "It isn't all out yet. It will take a few days."

"He did this," Felipe said. "The priest and his weeds."

Diego did smile a little. "It looks that way," he agreed. "But we must not tell my father and Gilberto. They couldn't...if this doesn't continue, they'll be so disappointed. I need to be sure."

That day and the next, Diego continued to use the bucket, although not so dramatically. He still slept a great deal and stayed quietly in his room. In the evening, though, Diego had an attack of vertigo and nearly fainted during supper with his father. Since he'd been calmly sitting in a chair eating at the time, Don Alejandro found it completely terrifying, and thundered out of Diego's room hollering for Gilberto and the servants and someone to fetch the doctor.

Felipe grabbed his hand and shook his head wildly. "No," he said. "The priest. He knows more."

"What?" Don Alejandro snapped. He was trying to watch Felipe without looking away from Diego and it didn't work.

Felipe shoved Gilberto in the arm. "The priest. He knows more. Not the doctor. The priest made Diego pass water."

"_What_?" Gilberto snapped. "Wait, Father. Tomas, get Father Benitez here, _now_. Run." He turned back to Felipe. "Explain."

"The weeds were working. Diego was pissing." Gilberto didn't even blink an eye at that crude sign. "A lot. A lot, a lot! He's better, but he wasn't sure it would last-"

Gilberto stormed past Felipe, scooped Diego into his arms and swept him into the bed.

"Quit fussing," Diego ordered, but his voice was quiet and unsteady.

"Father, bring the lamp over." He shoved the sleeve of Diego's dressing gown aside and pinched his arm. Whatever he saw made him gasp and pull away. "Father. Look, he's...Felipe's right. The swelling is down."

Don Alejandro sat heavily in the chair by the window. "I thought it was my imagination, that his face looked less puffy?"

His face? Felipe tried to see, but the light wasn't falling in the right place.

"No. No, the dropsy is better."

"Then why did he...?" Don Alejandro asked hopelessly.

"Why _did_ he faint?" Gilberto repeated. "Why did he faint?" He scrubbed his eyes with his palms and groaned. "Because he is an idiot."

Don Alejandro's head shot up. "'Berto!"

"No, he's right," Diego mumbled, trying to turn onto his side. "I am an idiot. I should have asked for help...had someone watch me. My fault."

"Without the dropsy," Gilberto said, trying to check his anger, "he is not under so much strain, and so does not need quite so much medicine. He fainted because he over-sedated his heart."

"Overstimulated," Diego corrected gently. "I am quite sure the action of - "

"Shut _up_, you idiot," Gilberto snapped.

Diego began to laugh quietly.

"You are not treating yourself anymore. Do you hear me? You are too big a fool to be trusted doctoring a sheep, let alone a human being."

"Oh, now," Diego protested. He had made it onto his side and was slowly sitting up. "You can hardly blame me _this_ time. It could not be predicted-"

"Never mind prediction, if someone had been _watching_ you he would have noticed. But no one was watching. You only told the boy, and I'm sure you didn't explain it properly."

"'Berto," Diego began in his most reasonable voice.

Gilberto was having none of it. "Lie down and be quiet. Father Benitez is coming. And the doctor, if you wish. But you are going wait and rest and nothing else."

Felipe glanced at Don Alejandro, who was staring out the window. He didn't move at all, just sat like a statue of a man.

Felipe got Diego settled under the covers and offered him a little watered wine. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"I have a horrible headache. But it's nothing to worry about. I'm sure Gilberto is right. This will be easy to fix. And the fact that the dose that barely worked yesterday is a bit too strong today, that is a very good sign."

When the priest came, Diego was asleep. He roused when the priest called his name and answered the questions he asked him. The priest held Diego's pulse for a long time, then blessed him and drew Don Alejandro into the sitting room. "Well, Father?" Don Alejandro asked. "Is this good news? Or more bad news?"

"Oh, it's excellent news, Senor. The dropsy was the worst danger, always, and that is clearing. If it continues," he glanced back into the bedroom and smiled, "he'll be able to resume most of his daily routine in a couple of weeks."

Don Alejandro closed his eyes. His hand dropped on Felipe's shoulder and squeezed hard. "Doctor Hernandez says his heart...It..."

"It is clearly damaged and a little enlarged, but I have seen men live good lives for many years with worse."

"I - I have no idea what to say."

"You give your thanks to God. He is watching over your son." He glanced back at the bed for a moment. "He is sleeping soundly. Here, come to parlor, and I will pray with you and Don Gilberto. And then the two of you must go to bed-I think it has been too long since either of you has slept well."

"Diego-"

"I will stay tonight."

"Father, I can't ask-"

"He does need to be watched, to make sure there are no further setbacks, and I know best what to look for. It's hardly the first time I've sat up with the sick." He took Don Alejandro's arm and led him from the room.

"But if you need-"

"If I need anything, I will ask Felipe. I doubt the poor child would let me out of his sight even if we tried to send him away. I think he's worried I still might be some kind of evil imposter."

Felipe couldn't think straight. He wandered back and forth between the bedside and the hallway. He could hear the _Pater Noster_s and _Santa Maria_sin the sitting room-there was no strange singing now. He could see, by the lamplight, that Diego was pale again...but he could also see that Don Alejandro had been right: Diego _had_ been kind of puffy and now he wasn't.

Long past worry, Felipe could only look and listen as he paced. Then, when the priest came back, he couldn't pace anymore, so he spread out the bedroll and lay down to wait. He must have fallen asleep for a while, because he woke to moonlight and the little priest briskly tisking, "Don't be silly. It is hardly _troubling_ me, Don Diego, to find you doing so much better. I'm very pleased to lose a night's sleep for this."

Diego answered, but Felipe couldn't make out the words.

"Yes, I do think so. And it would do you good to believe it too. You must have hope."

Diego shifted. "Hope...has been difficult lately, Father. Even now, with evidence that I might..." He broke off suddenly. "I understand you, I do. But I am so afraid to hope."

Felipe had never heard Diego sound so desolate. He started to rise-had moved to his knees, even-before he froze and realized that the reason Diego had never expressed this despair was that he was intent on concealing it _from Felipe_. And if Felipe appeared he would only try to protect him by hiding it again.

Silently, he lay back down. If Diego could get help from this stranger, then it was better than having no help at all. And a priest...perhaps it wasn't too much to think, after all, that a priest might have _something_ comforting to say.

What he did say was very surprising: "As a student of nature, the birds teach me to always have hope."

"The birds?" Diego asked.

"Well, every morning, in the cold and dark before dawn, the birds start to sing. They do not know the dawn comes, and _still_ they sing...And you know, Don Diego, the dawn always does come."

~TBC

More than 40 more pages to go, actually.


	9. March 6, 1808

**March 6, 1808**

In the meadows, on the hillsides, down the arroyos, cattle didn't look so huge. From a distance, against the endless sky, they were just moving dots that you counted.

Here, penned together in a mass, they milled around slowly, like waves churning on the beach. Their mouths opened and closed. Their ears flicked. The ground trembled and shivered under their restless feet.

Felipe stayed several yards back from the corral. The smell was sharper and stronger than the barn. Huge brown eyes found him sometimes, calm and wise? or frightened and angry? He couldn't decide.

The shaking in the ground made him want to flinch and run away.

Diego wasn't afraid of them. He'd thrown and tied more than a dozen - strong fast calves and even a couple of older strays. Diego never hesitated, never backed away, no matter how big. Someday Felipe would have to be unafraid, too.

Tomorrow these pens would be empty, the last of the herds on their way back to their ranchos, at least until they wandered across boundaries again. By tomorrow afternoon, it would be back to lessons and chores and eating food cooked in a real kitchen and his own soft little bed.

Felipe tore his eyes away from the corralled herds, though it was hard to turn his back on the mass of creatures that made the ground shake. It was starting to get dark. Earlier in the day it had rained a little, and the night was going to be cold and probably damp. Fires were already burning to ward off the chill as well as to cook a big meal. The spring round-up was over, and there'd be a big party tonight.

A group of vaqueros had started dancing, something complicated with lots of twining movement. Families - older women and small children who had watched from a distance and picnicked up on the hill - had come down to join the rough little fiesta. They'd brought guitars and wagons and pans of tamales.

Diego's brother was wrestling with the Macias boy while a group of older men looked on, placing bets. Gilberto was winning, but for some reason his opponent seemed to be taking his loss very well: Felipe thought he might be laughing.

The Pascal boy was showing off a snake he'd killed to his younger sisters. The smaller girl seemed properly horrified, but the other one had ridden the round-up: running errands, helping look for strays, and learning the business of running a ranch. Well, someday she'd be a rancher's wife out in a wild colony: a woman had to be strong to do that. This one, it turned out, wasn't afraid of a little dead snake. Felipe saw her take the snake from her brother and say something about dinner. He wondered if she really _would _feed it to him.

He wondered if the brat would have the guts to eat it if she tried.

He caught sight of Diego's father, then. He was sitting on a flat rock with Don Carlos. They were smoking cigars and laughing about something. Or possibly arguing: Don Alejandro was waving is finger around and Don Carlos was looking desperately innocent.

The vaqueros were starting to line up with their tin plates for slices from the massive roasts and ladles full of beans. Felipe thought about getting his own kit from the saddlebags. He thought about putting the saddle back on his horse and riding away from the crowd and the dancers and the families and the waiting herds that made the ground quake and groan. He'd walked halfway across the line camp and still, he could feel the rumble of the animals up through his legs.

A woman strode by him: Senora Pascal, indignantly carrying away the dead snake.

One of the town boys who had signed on for the round-up was wrestling with Gilberto now. He was winning again, of course, even though his opponent was a year or two older.

The touch from behind wasn't harsh, but Felipe gasped and jumped just the same. At once hands closed on his shoulders and turned him. By then, though, Felipe didn't need to look. He knew the height behind him, and the strength of the hands, and without either he would have known by scent: Diego.

Diego's hands brushed Felipe's shoulders, then the front of his jacket, while his eyes asked if Felipe was all right.

Felipe was tired and bewildered, but he answered with a small smile.

Diego smiled back and threw an arm around Felipe's shoulders, pulling him close against his side. With his free hand, Diego signed, "Have you eaten?"

No, he hadn't. As the tension in his gut loosened, he found he was hungry. "Please," he said.

"We need our plates, then," Diego grinned. "And you need to wash your hands and face. You're filthy."

Felipe grinned back and swiped at a streak of mud on Diego's nose. "You, too."


	10. Sept 1, 1813

**Sept 1, 1813**

The alembic leaked.

Felipe had spent two days making it (version after version of it) out of clay. Most of them had broken when Senora Lopez had fired them. Only one of the ones that survived had a tube wide enough for collection, and it leaked.

He tapped his fingers on the table to get Gilberto's attention. "Wax?" he signed. "Maybe?"

"I should let you learn the hard way. But no, it will melt when the apparatus gets hot, and even if it didn't, it would contaminate your product. You know, if you asked, Diego could probably get one from Monterrey."

"He said to make it."

Gilberto sighed. "And you are so diligent and responsible. He also said it was supposed to work."

Felipe glared at the stupid, ugly, leaking pottery...and glanced longingly at the book sitting on Diego's desk.

Two anatomy books (one in Latin), a pharmacopeia, a botanical encyclopedia, a surgical textbook, and a book on diseases and ailments had come back from Madrid. They were a treasure, and in the last couple of weeks, Felipe had become completely obsessed with them. He rushed through his assignments and chores so he could spend every free moment reading them. In the afternoons, when Diego was napping, Felipe curled up in the chair by the window and ran his fingers patiently over the detailed diagrams in the Latin anatomy. Early in the morning, before Diego rose he studied about medicines or diseases.

Diego, while still not 'well,' was _so_ much better. He was passing water regularly (and, oh, Felipe understood the importance of keeping track of that now). His appetite was good. He sat in the garden again in the morning, and in the afternoons when Don Alejandro wasn't about he slipped into the cave to visit with Toronado or check on the progress of Felipe's still. His sleep was undisturbed two nights out of three. He didn't cough.

As relieved-as _happy_-as he was, though, Felipe was determined not to forget the lessons that horrible summer had taught him. Felipe had been too busy being afraid and sad to pay proper attention to what was happening to Diego. He hadn't even known what to pay attention to. But while Felipe had been caught in his ignorant terror there had been _signs_. What Diego was fighting, what he needed, getting better, getting worse...small, specific things would have given it all away, if only Felipe had known where to look, what to notice.

Well, not again. Diego wasn't going to slowly drown in front of him and Felipe just fuss and putter and _not know_. And he was going to know what Diego was taking, too. Not just the names, that wasn't any help, but how dangerous each one was and what the danger was and how you knew if someone was taking too much...

There was a lot to remember. And, with so many very thick books, where did you start? It didn't help that during the years the twins were away, Don Alejandro had taught biology mainly as stock breading, rather than the messy parts inside animals or people.

Gilberto checked his watch. "The chess game should be finished soon. We'll be missed if we stay down here much longer."

When they reached the hall outside Diego's bedroom they found Don Alejandro leaning against the closed door with his eyes closed.

"Father? What's wrong?"

He opened his eyes. "_Nothing_ is wrong. He is asleep. On two pillows." He smiled. "Also, he beat me at chess. He hasn't since July."

For a long moment, no one said anything. There was nothing to say: Diego so ill he was losing parlor games was a heartbreaking thought. But he was _better _now, and he might stay better for a long time.

While Don Alejandro washed up and got ready for supper and Gilberto did-whatever Gilberto did when he was free-Felipe sat in the chair by the window in Diego's room, using the last sunlight to follow the trails of different blood vessels through the body.

It was only about an hour later that Diego stirred and woke slowly. Felipe-who was still holding the book even though it had grown too dark to read-set it carefully under the chair and lit a lamp. He sat on the edge of the bed and checked Diego's pulse, then shifted the lamp a bit and checked his color.

Diego raised a brow. "You might ask me how I feel."

Felipe shrugged. He shouldn't need to ask.

Diego chuckled. "It is polite," he reminded. "Besides, if you don't ask, I might think you don't care."

"Don't be stupid," Felipe answered absently. He was already thinking about what Diego would wear to supper. He was to eat in the dining room tonight, the first time in several weeks.

Diego's open laugh drew his attention back to the conversation. Felipe rolled his eyes impatiently. "You know I will always love you. All right? And I am sorry for calling you stupid. All right?" He nodded. "Are you ready to get up?"

Diego sobered suddenly. "Felipe..."

Patiently, Felipe patted his shoulder.

Diego sat up and took one of Felipe's hands lightly in his own. It was a rare gesture-Felipe couldn't talk this way, but sometimes the contact was worth it. "I don't even know how to begin to thank you. You've been so brave and so kind..."

Felipe took his hand back. "Don't start apologizing," he reminded.

"No, I promise."

Felipe smiled teasingly, "'Oh, how young I am!' Again. Please, no."

Diego didn't smile. "You have been braver than I. I do not know how I would have managed without you."

"Both of us," Felipe answered, shaping the words gently. "I need you too." Shyly, he added, "My dearest friend."

Diego closed his eyes. "Let me say thank you. Let me tell you how very proud I am. Please."

Felipe bowed his head. "I wasn't...I didn't...I couldn't..." He shrugged.

"Felipe, I know how difficult this is. I know what I am doing to you. My mother, when she was..." he swallowed. "I don't know how you endure this. In your place I couldn't."

Felipe leaned forward and leaned his forehead against Diego's shoulder. He couldn't think of anything to say. Diego hugged him hard for a moment. Then he patted his back and pretended to smile. "So. A big night tonight. What shall I wear to dinner, hmmm?"

z

Although Don Alejandro generally left Felipe alone to look after Diego, he had given the order that Felipe was not to skip meals. Bound to the letter of the law, Felipe shoved in a fist-sized chunk of bread and a chunk of cheese and washed it down with a cup of cow's milk before slipping out to watch the dining room from the shadows of the back hallway.

Maria was just bringing out the soup when there was a knock at the door. Felipe fumbled to brush the crumbs off his shirt and went to open the door.

It was Senorita Victoria. She patted Felipe's shoulder absently and called past him, "Don Alejandro? Senor?"

The de le Vega men rose as she turned the corner, following Felipe into the dining room.

"Oh!" she said. "I didn't realize-I didn't think about the time. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt dinner."

"Nonsense," Don Alejandro said. "You must join us."

She hardly seemed to hear him. She had finally noticed Diego was at the table. After a long look she smiled. "You're looking much better," she said. She had last seen him on Sunday, and he had improved even since then.

"Whereas you always look lovely," Diego answered.

She smiled more broadly at that. "And feeling better, too. You never bother with compliments when you're not feeling well."

Gilberto gave Felipe an impatient look he couldn't interpret. "Yes, he's very charming and gallant, shame there aren't two of him and all that."

Victoria gave him a brief scowl: she had never liked Gilberto's teasing.

He had never deigned to notice her disapproval. "Sit down, little Victoria, and tell us what has brought you to visit."

Maria had already brought out another place setting, and anyway, there was no more a polite way to refuse dinner than there was a way the de le Vegas could have refused to offer.

"The alcalde has captured the thief who stole the jewel of Guadalupe." She said, sitting down between Diego and Don Alejandro.

Don Alejandro frowned at her. "Yes, about a year ago, as I recall. Soon after he arrived. The man is imprisoned. The Devil's Fortress? Monterey?"

She was shaking her head. "They had kept him in the Santa Barbara presidio, hoping to find where he hid the jewel. He escaped. He was arrested by Mendoza right outside my tavern less than an hour ago."

"I can see why he came right back to Los Angeles, his visit worked out so well last time." Gilberto gave Diego a hard look and began to bolt his soup like a man who knows dinner is about to be cut short.

Victoria did not bother interpreting Gilberto's sarcasm. "He's hidden the jewel here. Obviously. They never found it."

"Jewel?" Diego asked. "I don't remember this bit of history." No, he wouldn't. If Don Alejandro had written about this in a letter, Diego would have been very sick when the letter arrived.

"Thief," Gilberto said between bites.

"I'd gathered that much, thank you."

Don Alejandro said patiently, "He stole the blessed jewel right from the alter in Santa Barbara. During daylight in the presence of a dozen people, although no one saw him do it. A month later our new alcalde arrested him."

"A month," Diego said. "He could have hidden it in half of Alta California with that much time!"

Don Alejandro was looking at Victoria. "They'll never find it without a confession," he said softly.

"And Luis Ramone is just the man to enjoy getting it!" she said.

Gilberto tutted at her. "I'm fairly sure it is not ladylike to discuss torture."

She ignored this. "There were no witnesses to the crime. What if he didn't do it? The fact that he might not know where the jewel is won't stop Ramone from trying to get the information."

"Even if he is guilty, he doesn't deserve what Ramone will do to him," Diego said very quietly.

"I promise you," Don Alejandro said, "If our alcalde gets that jewel, the church will never see it."

"But I don't know what we can do..." Victoria said. "I was hoping you would have some ideas..."

Gilberto had just downed the last of his bread. "We can always pray."

Felipe was fairly certain that Diego kicked him under the table. "What he means is, we should get the church involved. If Father Benitez were to make Ramone aware that he was watching the condition of the prisoner..."

Victoria was shaking here head. "He is not at the rectory. I thought of going to San Gabriel, but you know they have no luck with him."

Felipe, standing by the door to the kitchen, caught Diego's eye. Diego nodded, and Felipe said, "The priest is probably at the port. That fire yesterday, two people died."

"Where?" Victoria asked.

"San Pedro," Diego translated . "Ah. That makes sense. But how do you know these things?"

Felipe shrugged. "Everybody gossips."

Don Alejandro sighed. "For all the good it will do...I will fetch Don Carlos and we will pay a visit to the alcalde," he made a face, "tell him how impressed we are with the performance of his men in this matter. He might take the hint that someone will notice if he treats such a famous prisoner improperly."

Victoria glanced at him gratefully. "I was hoping you'd say something like that."

"You are welcome to join us," Don Alejandro said.

"I think that might weaken your point. Neither the governor nor the Church would listen if _I_ complained."

Don Alejandro glanced at the twins, then at Victoria. "He's already had too much time...Diego, please excuse us. Gilberto-"

"Father," Diego interrupted apologetically, "I would prefer if 'Berto stayed here, if you can manage without him."

That earned him a worried look, but Don Alejandro only nodded. "Hopefully, this will not take long."

When Don Alejandro and Victoria had left, Gilberto and Diego didn't sit back down. Diego went to the kitchen to apologize to Maria and ask her to set aside something for his father to eat when he got home. Gilberto headed for the cave.

He was undressing when Diego and Felipe caught up to him a few minutes later. "I wish you wouldn't needle Victoria," Diego said.

"I wasn't needling _her_," he answered, picking up the black pants. "Well, Diego? What do you think? Will a threat keep our dear Luis in line?"

Diego's mouth pinched. "No," he said shortly.

Gilberto hesitated. "He is an escaped prisoner. And a criminal-"

"If he _did_ commit the crime."

"-and the alcalde is within his duty to question a prisoner."

"There is no crime he could commit that would make him deserve the mercy of Luis Ramone."

Gilberto looked at Diego. "I won't bring him here."

"No. Take him to San Gabriel. They have a solid door that locks."

"So they do. Hmmm. When Ramone finds out, he'll demand they hand him back. Sooner or later they'll agree."

Diego shook his head. "He'll be too distracted."

"Oh? Ah. Yes. I see it." He grinned. "We'll need a jewel."

"What does it look like?" Diego asked.

"It's an emerald. Big. You don't remember this story at all? Big facets. Just find me a recipe. I don't want you up all night working on this."

"It shouldn't take too long-"

"You must be in bed when Father returns, and he might be as little as an hour and a half. God help us if he comes home and finds you missing."

So Diego lost that one. It was just as well. By the time he'd played with the chemistry books and sorted through the ingredients at hand he was clearly exhausted. He was asleep by the time Felipe had changed and put the light out in the sitting room.

When Gilberto slipped in the door, he was barefoot and silent. Felipe felt the floor move, though, and he pushed up onto his elbows, waiting, listening, just to be sure everything was all right.

"Diego? What is it?" Felipe could barely make out Gilberto's voice, but the worry in it made him slid out from the bedroll.

"Nothing," Diego said, "I'm fine, honestly."

"And the reason you are out of bed in the middle of the night?"

"Something has...changed? It sounds mad, I know, but the air is...lighter. Freer."

A short pause, then, "Diego, it has started raining in the mountains. And the clouds were piling up to the northwest."

"Rain."

"Maybe. Some, at least. We may all be in church this week, giving thanks for it." Another pause. "It's nothing you need to worry about. Get back in bed, Little Brother."

Felipe felt the movement he couldn't hear.

"Hold still." Felipe assumed Gilberto was taking his brother's pulse. This pause was very long, and Felipe, standing in only his nightshirt in the sitting room, started to feel cold.

"Satisfied?"

"Quite. Now, you will be happy to know Senor Montez is safely imprisoned at the mission and our holy jewel is drying in the cave. Well, three of them are drying in the cave. We'll see which one looks best."

"Wonderful," Diego said. "Well done."

"Thank you. As for the commanding officer of our garrison, tomorrow he will be too busy scouring the south fork of the Royal Road for the jewel to worry about the actual criminal."

"If he did commit the crime."

"Granted." Gilberto paused again. "Are you up to a serious conversation?"

"That depends on what the topic is, doesn't it?"

An impatient sigh and something that might have been a curse. "Tell me what Ramone did to you." He waited for an answer, and when one didn't come he pressed on gently, "I saw your face, Diego. Before. In the cave."

"We've had this conversation-All right, all right! He was...needlessly rough in my handling when Mendoza wasn't present. He gloated and postured. He invited me to beg."

"Tell me about that hot little room."

"I was thirsty. I couldn't breathe. I laughed at him anyway, I didn't lie about that."

"I know. I know, Diego, now tell me the rest of it."

"'Berto, he didn't do...half of what he clearly wanted to. My social position protected me. And the distraction of the riot outside. And the fact that I was so unsatisfactory a prisoner. As a tormentor, he was rather pathetic."

"Yes, you've said. So." He stopped, probably to think. "So. How much do you hate him?" Another space of quiet. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear that...?"

"Too much! Is that what you want? I hate him too much. I hate him so much I can hardly think." Diego seemed to remember himself and lowered his voice. "I hate him so much I am ashamed."

"Well, I should hope so! Not the ashamed part, that's frankly stupid. But hating him? How could you not _hate_ him? For-so many reasons? Really, Diego."

"Hating him is a waste. And a sin. My hate blights my own soul and does nothing to him-"

"Oh, what utter crap. I mean yes, all of that is true. But it doesn't matter. Hating yourself for hating him has got to be as bad as for you as hating him to begin with. And expecting yourself _not_ to hate him really is a bit much."

"'Berto, please."

"Well, really. It's too much to expect you to forgive him or lovingly turn the other cheek. Certainly not so soon. Diego, you are _not_ a saint. As Felipe recently had to remind me...expecting you to be perfect is just too great a burden for anyone to bear."

"Is it? Because this doesn't feel like hubris. I am not striving for 'inhumanly perfect.' I just want this...ugly feeling to go away."

"Perhaps you could give yourself...oh, a couple of months anyway? Hmmm?"

"'Berto-" Diego's voice was muffled.

"I know. I know, I know, I know." Their voices dropped too low for Felipe to make out the words. And then there was silence.

Minutes passed, and still there was silence.

Carefully, Felipe stepped forward and peeked around the corner. Gilberto was curled up diagonally more or less across the foot of Diego's bed. Both of the twins were breathing like they were asleep. Felipe frowned at them for a moment, then took the extra blanket that was folded over the back of the chair and covered Diego's brother with it.

Z

Felipe didn't waken again until the door opened just before dawn. Don Alejandro, still in his night clothes, looked down at him fearfully. "Gilberto is missing," he signed. "His bed is not been slept in."

"Here." Felipe sat up. "He's here."

Don Alejandro looked very, very old, although that might have been an illusion from the poor light. He straightened his back and asked stiffly, "How bad was it?"

Oh! "Not bad! Not bad!" Felipe scrambled onto his knees. "Diego was-thinking!" He shrugged, not sure how to describe something they both knew so well anyway. "He thinks and he talks and then Gilberto," Felipe shrugged again. "They fell asleep."

His shoulders sagged and he nodded. "Ah. Thank you." He sighed. "I need Gilberto."

Felipe nodded and fetched him silently.

In twenty minutes Gilberto was back. He sat on the bed and shook Diego awake. "Forgive me, Little Brother, but I need your help."

Diego grunted unhappily, but sat up.

"It turns out there was quite a lot of rain in the mountains. Father wants to ride out and check for flood damage-You remember that one year. Anyway, he wants me with him, and I should go. Which means you must go to the pueblo and check the news. I'd send your little spy, but...there are people he cannot speak to, and this is a delicate matter."

Diego nodded. "Go. We'll take care of it."

So an hour later Felipe was driving the little gig into town. Diego cast a longing glance at the barn, but he was still dizzy almost every time he stood up. It wasn't safe to ride. Felipe gave him an encouraging look as he urged the team forward and signed with one hand, "Soon, maybe."

"Soon what?"

"Soon you. On a horse." The sign for horse took too hands, but Felipe took the expedient of pointing.

"Oh. Maybe."

Felipe looked at him curiously.

Diego ignored the question and turned the conversation to the fall round-up, which was less than a month away.

In town, they went to the church first. Father Benitez was seated on the tiny porch behind the rectory drinking chocolate. He rose at once and hurried over to offer Diego his hand as he climbed out of the gig. "Don Diego. How wonderful. I didn't think you'd be to visit me so soon. Have you eaten? You must join me for breakfast. I'm afraid I'm just now eating. I slept rather late."

"Busy night?" Diego asked.

"Traveling by donkey is very slow. And then, when I got back, imagine my surprise to find the head of the Mission San Gabriel waiting to speak to me."

"Oh?" Diego asked, taking the seat he offered.

In the act of taking an extra cup from Carlito, Father Benitez paused and glanced at Diego speculatively. Then he filled the cup and continued briskly, "They had quite a bit of excitement, apparently: Zorro appeared at their gate with Leonardo Montez. Whom he had liberated from the jail here in town." The way Father Benitez was not looking at Diego reminded Felipe of the way Gilberto had a habit of not looking at Diego when they were up to something. "The prisoner is quite secure; sadly, the mission has a cell that locks from the outside only."

"Ah," Diego said mildly. "We'd heard about the arrest, of course. Senorita Victoria came out to the hacienda last night. I'm not sorry to hear he's out of the alcalde's hands. The question is, can the mission keep him?" Diego sipped his chocolate.

Father Benitez put his own cup down, folded his hands, and looked directly at Diego. "I told the friar that I would handle the alcalde, if he chose to make an issue of the matter. Don Diego...Would you say it is necessary that Senor Montez remain at the mission?"

"Yes. For the protection of Montez. For the sake of any chance of recovering the jewel. For the sake of public justice in California."

His eyes narrowed. "I see. The proper authority should be here to claim the prisoner in a few days. I think we can put Senor Ramone off for that long." He smiled politely. "More chocolate?"

"No, thank you."

Father Benitez's eyes slowly measured Diego. Up and down. "I should ask how you are feeling. It occurs to me you might be exerting yourself?"

Diego smiled. "Oh, no. I've been a model patient. Ask Felipe."

"Since you offered," he turned to Felipe. "How is he?"

"He's good," Felipe said, not quite sure what Diego wanted him to say. He thought Diego _might _want Felipe to corroborate the fact that he was not Zorro, riding around the countryside half the night. Since Diego couldn't possibly sit a horse, Felipe's testimony seemed unnecessary, but he answered, "He behaves. Nobody lets him do anything. This is the first time he's been away from the house in...forever."

Father Benitez nodded mildly. "He is eating? Sleeping? Walking in the garden?"

Felipe nodded. "Dizzy, sometimes. But no trouble breathing."

"I am so pleased to hear it. Now. I hate to cut our visit short, but suddenly I have the urge to go visit San Gabriel." He stood up and took Diego's hand. "You will forgive me?" He chuckled. "It will take an hour or two to get there by donkey-"

"We could offer you-"

"Oh, _no_, Don Diego. You misunderstand. I am not in a hurry." He smiled benignly as he accompanied them to the garden gate.

Next they went to the tavern. It was nearly empty. With so many people getting water in the morning, not many had time to sit and chat at the tavern between breakfast and lunch. Victoria waved and called, "Good morning, Don Diego," and darted into the kitchen.

She emerged a moment later and presented them with glasses of orange juice and a plate of bread and cheese and cold sausage. She sat down beside them without waiting for an invitation-and Felipe could not have said why he did not find this the least bit rude-and popped her chin on her hand. "You have heard, of course, that Zorro solved our little problem single-handedly," she said smugly.

Diego bristled (although Felipe thought his affront was mainly a tease) and said stiffly, "Well, I'm sure my father did his best."

"I'm sure he was magnificent," she said cheerfully. "But you have to admire Zorro's directness."

"Oh," Diego's brows rose. "It's his...directness...you admire."

She gasped, "Diego! What a thing to say!" But she did not deny it. Instead, she changed the subject by nudging the plate toward him.

It was piled high with food. Diego glanced at it a bit warily. "Victoria," he began apologetically, "I had breakfast at home and chocolate with Father Benitez..."

"I'm sure you can manage some more. It's very good bread." Her smile faded. "Diego, you have lost weight."

The silence was sudden and unexpected and awkward. Diego broke it, finally. "I haven't," he said. "I am the same weight I was at this time last year. Sometimes, with my illness, there comes a little...swelling. It's faded now, and I suppose I look smaller."

She covered her mouth with her hand and blushed. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean-"

"Victoria," he said gently, "how shall we get along if we can never discuss my illness?"

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable," she said. She wouldn't look at him.

"_I_ am not the one who is uncomfortable."

Her head snapped up, then, and she gave him a hard, open look. "All right, Diego. How are you doing?"

"I'm much better, thank you. My activity is still limited, but I'm not in any immediate danger. There. Was that so difficult?" He smiled encouragingly.

She didn't smile back. "Will you tell me? If you need anything? You won't make me wonder?"

"I promise," he said.

"I mean it, Diego. I'm not a little girl. I-"

"I know. In your place...I would demand the same."

"Thank you," she said softly.

"For what?" he asked. "For accepting your friendship? You can hardly thank me for that."

She sighed, a little exasperated. "You are the most gracious man I've ever met-and I approve of that, I suppose. But you _might_ let someone else try being nice once in a while."

Diego laughed. "As you wish. You're welcome. Now. It has been forever since I've been to town. What has been going on?"

The news was interesting. The woman who did the garrison laundry was Pilar's mother and the garrison blacksmith preferred breakfast at the tavern, so Victoria had gotten all the gossip that morning. When the alcalde had learned that his prisoner had been handed over to the mission he'd been more astounded than enraged. Even more interesting, he'd roused the lancers and had them out the gate at dawn, but they hadn't been headed toward San Gabriel. They'd gone north, across country.

Diego and Victoria talked about this and that for a long time Felipe wouldn't have been able to tell that Diego had any particular interest in some of the gossip if he hadn't known already. After an hour or so, Victoria had to return to the kitchen to work on lunch and Diego collected Felipe and led him outside.

It was still hot, even though it was already September. There were heavy clouds to the northwest, but the air seemed no cooler. Felipe nudged Diego to see if he was all right.

Diego nodded. When he climbed into the rig, though, he paused for a moment before signaling to Felipe to head south rather than toward home. "How is it coming with the still."

Felipe made a face and answered with one hand, "It leaks."

"What do you think the problem is?"

Felipe made a worse face and said, "Drops come out."

That earned him a laugh. "_Drops_ come out. I see. Felipe, perhaps if you tried less to replicate the way the model looks in the book and focused on what the device must accomplish."

"Capturing drops of steam," but 'steam' was a two-handed sign and what came out was mush.

Diego nodded anyway. "I do not require it to look elegant. And here we are..." They stopped at the edge of town, a comfortable little stone house the Pascals kept in Los Angeles because their ranch was a dozen miles away.

It seemed an odd place to go even before Diego asked for Don Emilio rather than Don Antonio. Diego squeezed Felipe's arm, gave him a hard look, and told him to wait outside.

Felipe assumed Diego was up to something. He was no special friend of Emilio Pascal's. Don Emilio was two years younger than the twins. That by itself wasn't important-Diego never cared who was younger or who was older...or even who was richer or who was smarter or who was stronger. He cared about who was _kind_, though. And Don Emilio, while never enthusiastically or creatively mean, wasn't kind.

Felipe watered the horses with the help of the Pascal's stable boy, and then sat to wait in the shade of a fig tree. The housekeeper brought out corncakes and milk. Felipe ate-politely, meekly. He knew how to be invisible.

It was half an hour before Diego returned. He said nothing until the house was well behind them. Then he said, "I want you to stay away from Emilio Pascal."

Felipe glanced back and shrugged. _He_ hadn't visited him, after all.

Diego was frowning. "According to Father...Don Emilio was heading the faction in the ransom party that was trying to arrest Zorro."

Oooh. A threat to Gilberto. Felipe should have been able to predict this. He nudged Diego with his leg: Well?

"It turns out the explanation isn't complicated. Our old friend Emilio is an idiot. Self-centered, short sighted, completely lacking in either common sense or compassion." Diego laughed bitterly. "He isn't nefarious. He doesn't have a grand plan. He is not blindly committed to the letter of the law. As far as I can tell, he will pursue Zorro's capture because he is bored, on a whim! The only hope our people have for protection from exploitation and injustice is endangered on a _whim_."

Felipe glanced around. They were alone on the road.

Diego was completely caught up in his temper. "I expected to find-I don't know what I expected to find! An enemy I could hate or an opponent I could respect, I suppose. One or the other. But this man-He was always an idiot and an arse. And _he_ is creating a danger for Gilberto. This, this, petty, stupid, short-sighted-!"

Felipe halted the rig, caught the reins between his knees, and smacked Diego firmly in the shoulder.

"Gilberto is worth _ten_ of this idiot!"

Felipe shoved the arm firmly and signed, "Well...five, anyway."

Diego flinched as though he'd been struck. In the moment surprise had bought him, Felipe signed, "Everyone says, 'don't upset Diego, don't let Diego get distressed.' Do I want to see what happens when you get_ really_ angry?"

Diego buried his face in his hands for a moment. Felipe let him. For a few seconds. Then he prodded him for attention. "The idiot is no threat to Zorro."

Diego sighed. "All it takes is once. One knife from behind, one lucky shot. Bad enough we must contend with Ramone, with the lancers...If I must protect my brother from every idiot...I simply can't believe that on top of _everything else_..."

"It will be all right."

"That pinhead, Emilio, of all people!"

"Someone was going to be stupid," Felipe pointed out. "Someone is always stupid. We'll be fine. Zorro is smart. And fast."

A cart, laden with water barrels was coming up behind them. Felipe had to pick up the reins and continue on.

For about half a mile, they rode in silence. Diego leaned back and closed is eyes. Slowly his jaw unclenched, until he said, "I just wanted to see what we were dealing with. I wasn't prepared...so much could be lost to something so petty."

Felipe shrugged. "Zorro is very, very good." Which was true.

At the side gate, Diego stumbled getting out of the rig. Without comment, Felipe put an arm around his waist and walked him slowly into the house. After the last month, Diego's room felt a lot like a sickroom, so for a change he installed Diego in the settee in the library. Head elevated with a pillow, feet up on the arm: anything to give his heart a little rest after this morning's drama.

As soon as Diego was asleep, Felipe retrieved the surgical textbook from the shelf. Of all the medical books, he liked this one least: it was frankly horrifying. While anatomy was interesting and the book on diseases helped focus his fuzzy worries, Felipe did not even want to think about things like gangrene and frostbite and hemorrhage and wounds of the eye (yuck) and compound fractures and dislocated bones (bones Felipe had never even knew existed could be dislocated, never mind broken) and compression of the brain (how you treated that didn't bear thinking about!). Every chapter was more terrible than the last, and everything that Felipe understood was either disgusting or terrifying.

A lot of it he didn't understand. And some of it directly contradicted the other books.

But. Sooner or later Gilberto was going to come home with a musket ball in him, and by God, Saint Mary, and all the angels, Diego was _not_ going to have to dig it out alone. Not if Felipe could help it.

At least they would probably not have to worry about frostbite.

At two o'clock, Felipe woke Diego and handed him the little bottle that held his afternoon dose. "Sorry," he signed. "It's time."

Diego rubbed his eyes with his free hand and downed the preparation in two swallows. "I'm sorry," he mumbled sleepily. "Thank you." He pushed his hair out of his eyes and took a deep breath. "Three conversations and I'm completely wiped out."

Felipe patted his arm. He thought the most likely culprit wasn't the conversations but the near-apoplexy that had followed them, but he wasn't going to say that. "You were very sick. It is going to take some time. Don't worry." He tucked the little bottle into his sash. He'd clean it in the kitchen. "You missed lunch. Come eat something."

Diego frowned. He drew Felipe down to sit beside him and hesitated.

"What's wrong?"

"Felipe." Diego folded his hands together and sighed. "I'm feeling much better, but...we don't know..."

"What?"

"You need to understand, my...my condition..."

Oh. Felipe could see where this was going, and if Diego didn't want to say it, well, Felipe could. "I know. You won't get all the way better. You'll never be well. I know. Father Benitez explained." Oh, this was harder to say then he thought it would be. He didn't want to go on, but Diego was so unhappy and worried, and he had a look that said they were going to have this conversation, so it was best to just get through it. "You're heart is sick and it won't get well. It is strong enough to...manage...mostly...if we keep the water out of you. Medicine helps, but it won't cure you." His hands fumbled stiffly and almost gave up over the next: "You'll be sick sometimes. And someday your heart will be too tired to get better and you will...die."

Diego nodded.

"You knew when you came home. I hadn't seen it. I didn't understand."

"I'm sorry."

"No apologizing!" Felipe answered automatically. Diego just looked at him, so he added, "Please don't be sad. Please." _Please. You didn't die this time. I'm grateful enough for that._

Diego pulled him in and hugged him hard. When he let go-too soon-he leaned back and smiled sadly. "So. And I do not know why. And there is nothing I can do to cure it."

"Are you afraid?"

Diego looked surprised at the question, but he nodded once. "More than I would like."

"Dying?"

That earned him a sad little smile. "No, Felipe. Death holds the answers to so many questions. And while I would rather not have my answers just yet...No, I'm not afraid to die."

Felipe waited. He wouldn't force the question. Diego would see he wanted to know, and answer or not.

He answered. "The helplessness, I suppose. That I kept getting worse. I did everything I could think of, used every tool I could find, and I could hardly even slow it down. And I know it could happen again, will happen again...and meanwhile everyone I love is suffering so horribly with such terrible grief. Because of me. And I can't do anything about that, either. There is no comfort I can offer, nothing I can do to make the pain go away for any of you. And Gilberto-what he is doing is important and good, and I can't help him. Not enough. I can barely stay awake long enough to collect information. That he should have to do this alone..." Diego dropped his eyes. "Father needs help here at the ranch, and I can't ride most days, let alone chase strays. I-I promised I would teach you to fence. So many things... And there are things I have given up for myself, things I wanted, things I can't stop myself from _still_ wanting...All the dreams I had that are lost now...For the first time in my life, I have a problem I can't defeat by either my brain or my effort, and I am losing everything to it."

Diego had spoken so quietly and reasonably, it was clear he'd given the matter a lot of thought. Of course he had; he was Diego. But it seemed to Felipe that he hadn't thought the matter through quite far enough. There was a piece missing. "It's a good thing it isn't needed."

Diego frowned in puzzlement. "What's good?"

More slowly, Felipe signed, "You do not need to solve this problem, yourself, alone. That's good."

"I don't..."

Felipe shrugged. "Doctor Hernandez, he's pretty smart. Your priest is much better. He knows things you don't." And hadn't that been a surprise? "The Older one isn't completely worthless; he's very good with you, when you're sick. And. There is a lot I don't know, but give me time. I'll catch up. I will."

Felipe realized he was looking at his hands. He had to look away-these next words were too hard to see: "You're right. We're sad. And you can't fix that. But we're...helping each other. Everyone is very kind. Yes. Everyone is very kind. And it helps. Isn't that strange? It doesn't hurt any less, but it is easier, not to be alone. It's better..."

He trailed off because Diego was just _staring_ at him. Felipe wondered if he wasn't making any sense, or if Diego was having trouble concentrating on such a long monolog in sign, or if it was the thoughts themselves that beyond normal reason.

Felipe tried to find something else encouraging. Something. Anything. Because Diego was just looking at him. "And Zorro isn't alone, either. He is very good at fighting and tracking and scaring the alcalde, but _you_ see the problems coming. Even sick, you see things coming. He needs you and you help him. And your father-he helps Zorro. And Victoria. And your priest, I think. He knows Zorro is good, even if he doesn't know yet how bad the alcalde is."

Very softly, Diego said, "I don't have to find all the solutions myself."

Felipe nodded. "You don't need much help, really...but the help you do need, you've got."

"And I don't have to face my illness alone."

Felipe nodded again. Actually that was the easy part. "I can't solve any of the problems, but I'll be here. Always. You're not by yourself."

"You humble me," Diego whispered.

Felipe gave him an annoyed look. "It isn't 'humbling' to need help. Everybody does."

"No-I meant...You have just lectured me so thoroughly and so gently. And such a hard lesson, and one I couldn't see myself...and _should_ have."

Felipe patted his shoulder. "You needed a little help thinking. It's _not a big deal_. Now, come on. You must be hungry. Come and eat."

When Diego's father and brother returned a few hours later, Diego was again on the settee, his feet up, reading. As usual, Don Alejandro went straight to him and sat close beside him. "How are you feeling?" he asked gently.

Diego set aside the book and smiled placidly. "Quiet well," he answered.

"You seem pale, Diego."

"I may have pushed a bit, today," he conceded. "I went to the pueblo."

Don Alejandro's brows rose. "Overcome by the urge to go shopping?"

"Visiting friends," Diego answered. "Catching up on gossip."

Gilberto, leaning in the doorway and trying to fluff up his sweat-damp hair, caught Diego's eye interestedly. Diego answered in the affirmative with a tiny flick of his eyes.

Don Alejandro didn't notice the exchange. He was still trying to measure Diego's health with his eyes. "I realize you must feel frustrated, with your movements so restricted. But, Diego, it is so important-" Diego dropped his eyes in a show of submission that Felipe did not believe for a moment. Apparently it satisfied Don Alejandro, though, because he broke off and patted Diego's shoulder. "Just try to be a little patient, Son. You've gotten so much better." His eyes narrowed. "I realize you are no more likely to follow advice that contradicts your inclinations now then you were when you were sixteen, but perhaps I can remind you that I am head of this household, and as such I am obligated to look after your welfare."

Gilberto straightened up. "Father!"

"This does not concern you," Don Alejandro answered, his eyes pinning Diego.

Diego, for his part, looked genuinely subdued. "I understand you, Father. It won't be necessary to confine me to the house."

"I'm not threatening anything so extreme."

"I'll...master my impatience."

Don Alejandro went to his room to clean up after that. When he was gone, Gilberto gave Diego a smug look. Diego looked back with such earnest innocence that Felipe almost laughed. "So?" Diego changed the topic. "Did the storm hurt us?"

"Lost a calf to a flash flood," Gilberto answered. "Could have been worse. Come talk to me while I change. What's the gossip from town?"

Diego rose smoothly. The hand he laid on Felipe's arm might have been only friendly, if you didn't know he was checking his balance. "Father Benitez has taken it upon himself to intercede between the garrison and the mission, in the event they come to disagreement over the prisoner. I have no doubt he can hold Ramone at bay until an official delegation arrives to take charge of the prisoner."

"That's good news," Gilberto said over his shoulder as he led them down the hall. "I'm sure Zorro will be pleased, after all the trouble he went to." Frowning at Diego's expression, he added. "What?"

"There is more news. Instead of reclaiming his prisoner this morning, the alcalde took a party north, across country."

Gilberto froze. "North?"

Diego winced sympathetically. "North."

Softly, through gritted teeth, Gilberto said, "It was to be south. The _south _fork of the Kings Road."

Diego nodded. "I thought so. It appears he doesn't take direction well."

Gilberto turned on his heel and stalked away. Entering his sitting room, he took a smooth rock he'd been using as a paperweight from the desk and tossed so hard at the wall that it scratched the plaster. "That idiot! What an utter clod!" He kept his voice down: at least his temper was more or less under control. "The simplest thing! The simplest, little thing is too much for him. Mother of God! Should I draw him a map-?" He continued to rant while removing his shirt and tossing it at a chair.

Felipe nudged Diego's shoulder. What was the problem?

Diego sighed. "It would be much easier to plant the fake gem in the south fork. You know the place-the cover is excellent. In the dark it would have been very simple to get past the guards and position our decoy to be found tomorrow."

"I will have to lead the guards away," Gilberto said, pouring water from the pitcher into the basin on the dresser. "I'll need an accomplice to hide the gem." He plunged his face into the water and shook his head.

"I...can't do it," Diego said.

"I can," Felipe said.

"No," Diego said.

"No, what?" Gilberto asked, straightening up and toweling his head.

"No, Felipe can't do it."

Gilberto considered that. "He could. It's simple enough. And not the most dangerous thing he's done."

"I won't endanger him just to thwart Ramone."

"What danger? Do you think I can't take care of him? Or that I _won't_?"

"Of course I don't think-"

"Even when I didn't understand, Diego, I never let him come to harm. I was an absolute _snot_ to him, I admit. But I would never have let him get hurt."

"This has nothing to do with _you_. The principle-"

Felipe squeezed Diego's arm. _Stop_.

Diego looked down at him. "I am not saying you aren't capable. I am saying I will not risk you just because I am angry at Luis Ramone."

Felipe pointed at Gilberto and raised his brows.

Gilberto shrugged. "Well, I would do this because I was angry at Ramone, but I would also be doing it even if it _weren't _personal. He's a horrible administrator and-no, don't get me started. And I'm doing it for the Church. And I'm doing it for that thief: _someone_ kept dragging me to salons on civil society and cruel and unusual punishment."

Felipe wasn't sure what that last part meant. Diego sighed and translated, "He means he is against torturing prisoners on principle, even when they're guilty."

Felipe shook his head. "So? I have principles, too. And I'll be safe with him. Stop being difficult and taking responsibility for everything."

Diego snorted. "Principles. I've created monsters out of both of you. Fine. I withdraw my objection."

After supper, when bedtime came, Gilberto disappeared into the cave and Felipe slipped out to the barn. He saddled Sunshine and led him at a quiet walk out to the road. In a few moments Toronado cantered up beside him and-wordlessly-they rode north. After about an hour, Zorro motioned toward a thicket and Felipe hid Sunshine and then climbed up behind Zorro on the big black stallion.

He held on tightly. Although he had fed and groomed and walked Toronado occasionally, he had never ridden him before, and he was well aware that the twins were still smoothing out his temperament.

When they saw a glimmer of firelight, Felipe slid silently to the ground and took cover behind a large rock while Zorro galloped forward to draw away the lancers. In a moment, a thunder of hooves rushed away to the west, and Felipe crept forward. He paused outside the ring of firelight and looked carefully, waiting, listening as best he could (and painfully conscious of all the small sounds he might not be hearing) until he was sure the post was abandoned.

From a bag slung over his shoulder, he took a trowel and a small wooden box. There were holes here and there; rocks appeared to have been levered aside, the roots of a gnarled tree dug up. He picked a likely looking hole-not too deep-climbed in and dug around in the sandy soil. It didn't have to be very deep...

Far to the northwest there were tiny pricks and streaks of light. Storms again. Felipe wished the rain would come into the valley. Quickly, he buried the box, put away the tool, and raced back toward his horse. Done, it was done. As simple a job as Zorro had said.

~TBC


	11. Sept 3, 1813

**Sept 3, 1813**

Gilberto, dressed for a day at the range, woke them again the next morning. It was very early and still cold. Felipe pulled his blanket around his shoulders and slouched in the doorway to the sitting room, shivering.

"Well, I'm sorry," Gilberto said, "but he wants me with him again, and I can't refuse. But listen: you need to find an errand in town today for Felipe so he can get the news. Maybe send him in with Tomas for the water. But he'll have to hurry, he'll be ready to leave in a few minutes. And I need you to go to San Gabriel, if you're feeling well enough. One of the smokers isn't working right, the blacksmith there needs to take a look at it."

Sleepily, Diego sat up. "Very clever," he said, rubbing his eyes. "How much sleep have you had?"

"Almost four hours-don't look at me like that. How can I say no?"

"This cannot go on."

Felipe stepped out so they could both see him. "Maybe Gilberto isn't feeling well."

"No," Gilberto snapped. "I will _not_ do that to him."

Well, no. Don Alejandro was already eaten alive by worry for Diego. If Gilberto were to suddenly become frail as well...no. "Tell him the truth. He won't be angry. He supports Zorro."

The twins glanced at each other sadly. Gilberto sighed.

"He _won't_ be angry," Felipe insisted.

"He'd be very proud," Gilberto said resignedly. "And then he would forbid me to ever do it again."

Well, that made no sense at all.

"It's too dangerous," Gilberto said. "He'd never believe I could pull it off. He might have believed it of Diego, who could always do anything...but I am only Gilberto."

Felipe was a little shocked. It felt disloyal, to assume Don Alejandro would have so little faith in his son. "But you're doing fine! And you're not week or stupid. And-and anyway, Diego is helping you."

"Ugh," Diego passed a hand over his eyes. "Even worse!"

Gilberto sighed. "Diego shouldn't be expending his energy on this madness. He's far too ill...Father would never forgive me for allowing him to be involved. And, of course, he's right. Diego is not strong enough for this...intrigue."

Felipe looked from one to the other. Diego didn't dispute his brother's position. But. But. "If you are not capable and he is too sick-How could you_ allow_ each other-? Why haven't you stopped each other? If it's such a bad idea?"

Smiling sadly, Diego drew Felipe down to sit on the bed beside him and said to his brother, "Could you ask me to stop?"

Gilberto returned his brother's level gaze with a warmth he rarely showed to anyone. "I couldn't. Never."

Diego nodded. "Neither could I. Felipe, we are fighting for our home, our neighbors..."

"Our country," Gilberto whispered, "our family."

"Zorro is the only alternative," Diego said.

"No, there are plenty of others. And they are all unthinkable."

"Yes. Exactly." Diego inclined his head. "Neither of us would survive in a world that was dependent on Luis Ramon's mercy...and neither of us will allow open war."

Gilberto averted his eyes. "So I am asking my poor brother-who was all but bedridden a few weeks ago-to spy for me. And he'll do it."

"We don't have to defeat him," Diego said. "We only have to keep him from destroying this colony and oppressing its people. And that-we _can_ do that."

Then, as one, they glanced at the door. "You need to go. He'll wonder-"

And then Gilberto was gone and Diego was looking at Felipe anxiously. "Have we frightened you too badly?"

Felipe had never seen the public beatings in the plaza. Even if he'd wanted to go, Don Alejandro would never have allowed it. He shook his head. "I know nobody is safe, either way."

"Will you make the water run with Tomas?"

Felipe nodded. "Can you sleep some more? You'll need the strength to visit the mission."

"I'll sleep," Diego promised.

An hour later, Felipe was on the cart full of barrels with Tomas and Pepe when it arrived at the pueblo.

The line moved faster than it used to-people were getting better at loading the water as they got more experience. During the wait, there still plenty of time to talk: mostly people talked about the weather, but they also talked about the alcalde's odd assault on the King's Road just north of the mission and muttered about the notorious criminal being housed in one of the mission storerooms. A few people had lost pigs or calves to flash flooding, but nobody's well was filling yet. Senor Ortiz's daughter had had baby boy. The southbound coach was a day late.

Felipe remembered it all to report later.

When the cart returned to the hacienda with its full barrels, Diego was sitting on a chair in the front courtyard, sketching the distant mountains and the clouds above them. It was a very simple picture, hardly the best Diego had ever done, but seeing him drawing again was heartening. Diego used to draw all the time, and paint sometimes, too.

"Maria has left you some bread and sausage in the kitchen," Diego said, glancing up briefly from his landscape. "We'll head to the mission when you're done."

Z

When they were out of sight of the house, Diego took the reins and asked what he'd learned. Felipe repeated the stories from the plaza. None of the news was useful, and when he was finished Diego handed him the reins and leaned back in the seat.

Felipe nudged him. "Hot today," he signed.

"I'm fine. No, really, I'm feeling so much better. When this mess with Montez is over, we should start your music lessons again."

Felipe nodded agreeably, but Diego was frowning at him. "Unless you want to stop them...?"

Felipe shook his head and signed, "Interesting," which was an absurd understatement, but he wasn't going to say "frightening" and "exciting" and "exhausting" to Diego even if it wouldn't have taken both hands.

"Felipe?" Diego prodded him gently. "Is something wrong? Have I pressured you into-"

Felipe shoved the reins back into Diego's hands and answered quickly, "Will you be sad if I can't make music?"

"That's what is bothering you?"

"I-I want to _do_ it. But I won't be good at it."

Diego nodded. "I would be very surprised if you ever became skilled enough to perform for anyone but family. That isn't why we're doing this...But I think you might learn to enjoy music and be comfortable with it. And that's a gift I can give you."

Felipe thought about that. Sometimes Diego really was _so_ transparent. He gave him an impatient look and told him, "You gave me a home. I don't care that you can't teach me to fence." He thought for a moment. "That thing you did with Toronado...that would be nice? Is speaking necessary? Or could I learn to do that?"

Diego was so still and so sad that Felipe thought he was going to say no. But instead he said something astonishing: "I can't adopt you. There isn't enough difference between our ages. I'm too young. I'm so sorry."

Felipe's hands went slack.

Diego was still talking. His voice was so quiet that Felipe could barely hear him over the turning of the wheels. "It isn't even my illness that has taken this from me. I've made you my primary heir, although my assets...what I have is mainly tied up in cattle. Still, it would be enough to pay for your education-"

_Stop. Stop. Stop._ He couldn't get the word out, so he snatched at the front of Diego's jacket and shook him gently. _Stop_.

Diego halted the rig and tied off the reins. "Are you disappointed? Surely...you're not surprised."

Felipe gulped and pushed a word between them: "Angry."

Diego's brows rose. "You're _angry_?"

"I don't want your money and I don't need your name. Why don't you understand? How can you be sorry? Don't you know what you've done for me? No-Don't say it's not enough!"

"I wasn't going to say that. I was going to say...that the honor has been mine. That you are as brave and loyal and loving and intelligent as any parent could ask for. That I have been blessed, Felipe, and if I could claim you legally, it would be my honor to do so."

He thought about that. He remembered a few months before, a conversation Diego and his brother had had...and Gilberto had implied that Diego wouldn't have any others...

Any other children.

Felipe closed his eyes. His breathing was coming quick and hard. He wondered if this was what it felt like when Diego was ill-the world spun around him and he couldn't breathe-

A hand behind his neck and a strong arm around his waist. He was shifted, his head suddenly almost resting in his own lap. "Easy, now. You've had a shock, I think. I didn't mean to surprise you. I thought-I assumed-Felipe, surely you knew I loved you?"

Felipe tried to nod, but folded in half, it was hard.

"I should have had this conversation sooner, I should have, but it was just so hard...I knew it was impossible, but I didn't want to say that out loud...to you. How could I say it to you?"

"Cold," Felipe said, one handed. "It was cold."

"You're cold?" Diego asked. "I realize at your age it's easy to get caught up in things, but take a deep breath and-"

"It was cold." Felipe sat up and rubbed the heel of his hand across his eyes. "When you found me, it was _cold_. Don't you understand? Everything that is good or warm-" No, that wasn't right. In his head the idea was poetic, but shaped by his hands, it was silly. "I'm happy. I don't need you to be...more to me then you've been. Or different. Father." The word felt strange and awkward. His father? Felipe could barely remember that face, that life. "Family has to keep you. But you always loved me when you didn't have to. I don't _want_ more than that. Don't be sad about not giving me what I don't need."

Diego closed his eyes and sighed. Felipe let him sit for a moment, then gently nudged his shoulder. "I don't want you to go away again. I know you can't promise. I know. You're doing your best." _But I don't need for you to be my father. I need for you to _live_. Just that. _

Diego didn't answer. He was very still. Felipe patted his shoulder. "It's all right," he signed. "I promise, it's all right."

Diego swallowed. "I suppose at this point it would be stupid to say that you deserve to have a family like other boys and I'm sorry I can't give that to you."

Oh. Well. "I'm sorry I can't by your child."

Diego drew himself up, suddenly fierce. "Never doubt that in my heart you are. God gave you to me just as surely as if-" he laughed once, weakly. "I am rather thick, hmm? It doesn't matter what the law says or what other people think, you are _mine_."

Felipe winced dramatically. "You are _always_ thick when you're sorry about something. Anyway...it's hard to be cheerful and think clearly when you don't feel good. Gilberto tried to explain that once." He'd made a hash of it, though, and it had taken Felipe weeks to sort out what he'd meant.

Diego sighed and took up the reins again. He urged the horses forward, then fingered the leather strips in his hands.

"Yours," Felipe said. He patted Diego's arm, because there weren't enough words to tell him that it would be all right. He took he reins back. They didn't say anything else until they reached the mission.

Father Benitez and one of the grey-robed friars met them at the inner gate. "Good day, Don Diego, how pleasant to see you," the little round priest was beaming cheerfully, as though he had not seen Diego in weeks. "I'm having such a lovely visit. Have you seen the herb garden? It is marvelous."

Stepping carefully out of the rig, Diego returned the greeting with the same innocent enthusiasm. "Not in years, Father. I haven't had the opportunity to visit much since returning to California..." He gave Father Benitez and the friar a thoughtful look and turned back to Felipe. "Can you visit the blacksmith without me? It should be fairly simple." He smiled slightly. "Apparently you can find us in the herb garden later."

A separation away from home. In a place that wasn't as familiar as the tavern. Felipe didn't particularly like it, but at least Diego would be with his priest. Diego hadn't had one of his bad spells in three days, but that didn't mean he wouldn't have one in the next hour. Mostly, it happened at night, but a spell could come on at any time, with very little warning.

Felipe hesitated, but the friar and three or four of the neophytes were standing close by: he could hardly remind Father Benitez about Diego's fragility. Instead he held up the broken smoker, waved, and turned the horses toward the mission's smithy. He hoped everything would be okay.

The smith looked at the smoker and grunted. "Yeah. One of the first ones I made. I'm sure smoke goes everywhere but out the spout."

"Can you fix it?" Felipe asked, gesturing broadly because Manuel was mission-raised and didn't sign well.

"Nah. Wait here." He disappeared out the back door.

It was hot in the forge. The big, open windows-more window than wall on two sides-brought in fresh air, but couldn't completely clear away the heat and bitter stink. Felipe wandered in a tight circle, not touching anything. There were thin sheets of copper and lead in the corner. He wondered if you could make a passable alembic out of one of them. That made him wonder if the mission ever distilled anything, and what they might use to do it.

Of course, he could always give in and ask Diego to order one made of glass.

The floor was dirt, hard-packed from long use. Felipe ran the toe of his sandal across the surface. He hated it when Diego was sad and frustrated.

It was a good sign, in its way-admittedly a horrible way-because when he was very ill, Diego only had the energy to pay serious attention to urgent matters. He carried on as best as he could with Felipe's lessons, and he gave Zorro all the help he could...and that was all he could manage between sleeping and breathing and trying to work out his medications. Priorities. When even crossing a room left him breathless and unsteady, he didn't dwell on the frustrations or disappointments his illness thrust upon him.

Lately, he'd had the energy to notice his problems and not the energy to be optimistic about them. And the truth was the problems were serious. Not even Gilberto believed that Diego would live long enough to marry and have his own children.

That was sad_. Diego would have made such a good father-except he has been my father and mother both._ Well. That thought certainly made no sense. But it was true. Felipe wondered-how it would have been if Diego had ever had to share a responsibility for a child with a wife?

How unfair would it be if he really did never get the chance to find out?

Well, if seeing to Felipe's education was one of the few plans left to him...Felipe would make him proud. He could do that.

And maybe, later, if Diego continued to get stronger, he'd find other successes. Diego had always found such joy in living. There had to be plenty to be happy about. Maybe Felipe could encourage him to take up painting again. Or poetry: he'd barely seen Diego writing in the few months he'd been home. Poetry didn't need a person to run or unload a cart or ride a horse. There was nothing wrong with Diego's brain, after all, when he was feeling energetic enough to use it.

Felipe was staring at the brick wall when Manuel returned with a different smoker. "Take this one," he said. "It should work just fine. I don't know what they were thinking, selling your patron that other one. I supposed one of the boys just grabbed equipment from storage. Here." Dully, Felipe thanked him and took the replacement to the rig. He blinked in the sunlight and tried to remember the way to the herb garden.

He found Diego seated on a low wall beside a patch of rosemary. The priest stood patiently beside him, a hand on Diego's shoulder. Felipe closed his eyes and clinched his teeth for a moment, bracing himself. It shouldn't be so hard. He'd seen Diego weary or ill so often. He could do it again, he could-

When he reached the wall and got a look at Diego's face he paused again-with relief this time. Diego didn't look strained, only a little impatient.

"He is fine," Father Benitez said gently. "He has walked a great deal, and that is very good for him, but he must rest frequently."

Diego smiled wryly. "He has been lecturing me on the benefits of _moderate_ exercise for the last ten minutes...and making it the point that I am absolutely forbidden to go for a walk alone, even in the garden at home."

Felipe winced sympathetically. Since he'd gotten so ill after being imprisoned in the cuartel, Diego was hardly left alone when he was sitting quietly or sleeping. He had no hope of going for a walk alone.

Placidly, the priest continued, "With time, he will be able to tolerate more exertion. His progress so far is excellent."

"Thank you," Felipe answered.

Father Benitez guided Diego to his feet and tucked a hand around his elbow. It looked like a friendly gesture rather than a helpful one, but Felipe knew better. "Since he is feeling so much better I will expect to see you both at Mass on Sunday," he said briskly.

Felipe was glad the priest couldn't see his face. He couldn't keep the blush back. He'd been avoiding confession. Well? How could he say to this man of God-who had saved Diego's life and shown them nothing but kindness-that he had spent the first week hating and resenting him? It would almost be easier to confess being angry at God for Diego's illness. God might take that personally, but He would forgive and He already knew about it anyway, and...

Well, a priest would probably forgive, too. But he would know. And perhaps he would blame Diego for raising such a poorly behaved child!

Turning this embarrassment over and over kept him quiet until they were on the road headed for home. He glanced over at Diego. His color was quite good: the walk didn't appear to have done him any harm. A few weeks ago walking across he plaza had left him breathless for several minutes.

Felipe nudged him inquiringly.

Diego tisked softly and shook his head. "The rains in the mountains have caused at least one large mudslide. Any detachment of soldiers coming for Montez will be delayed. Perhaps for a week or more."

"Bad news," Felipe signed worriedly.

"Father Benitez believes that the friars at San Gabriel are not prepared to keep the prisoner so long. He is arguing the case but...he believes that they will decide to turn Montez over to the alcalde tomorrow."

Felipe shuddered. "That's bad. But maybe the alcalde has already found the fake jewel. He won't have a reason to torture the prisoner if he thinks he already has the prize."

"He won't have an _excuse_," Diego corrected. "Which may serve well enough. But only if he finds the jewel. We don't know...and more to the point, Father Benitez doesn't know."

Felipe didn't follow.

Diego was silent for a long moment. When he answered it was so softly that Felipe could barely hear him over the horses' hooves. "He has been...making inquiries. From what he has discovered about my captivity...Apparently enough of the basic facts of my imprisonment are known that he has drawn the conclusion that it was a murder attempt."

Felipe thought it probably was - and a very clever attempt since the death would have been blamed on natural causes. On the other hand, Diego actually dying might not have been Ramone's goal at all. The twins tried to talk around the subject, but Felipe knew they believed that the Alcalde enjoyed the suffering of others - the way other men enjoyed wine or a painting or a horse race.

But whatever his goal, the fact was that Ramone had confined Diego without either basic necessities or medical help. Had it been politics or revenge? Or only a pleasant diversion?

"He thinks Montez isn't safe," Felipe said.

Diego sighed again. "And in the face of this gross miscarriage of justice...he cannot just sit back and do nothing. Any more than we could."

Unbidden, the thought of the little priest dressed in Zorro's black floated into Felipe's mind and a silent laugh rippled through him.

Diego frowned, "Why is that funny?"

Felipe explained. Instead of laughing, though, Diego scowled and said, "You're very nearly right. I believe he is going to allow Montez to escape tonight. So that he can't be given to Ramone tomorrow."

Felipe's eyes widened. "How do you know?"

"He all but told me! Which is a problem in its way. He may have guessed I have some connection to Zorro. But the more immediate issue is what to do?"

That was puzzling. "Do? You can't let a thief get away." Well...maybe they could. A church could offer sanctuary. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if a priest released a prisoner. Everything was so complicated.

"It isn't only a question of that," Diego said thoughtfully. "This presents a unique opportunity." His eyes seemed very far away. Felipe waited, but he didn't say anything else.

When they reached the barn at home, Gilberto was just unsaddling Viking (another joke of Don Alejandro's: "Viking" was a friendly, cooperative gelding, not a ruthless marauder). As Pepe led the horse away, Gilberto leaned over and said softly, "I told father you wanted some help with Felipe's English lesson, and I'd promised you the afternoon."

Diego nodded. "Shall we study in my room? It has a nice breeze in the afternoon. Felipe, would you find us something to eat?"

When Felipe arrived in Diego's bedroom with a tray, though, he found Gilberto asleep on the bed and Diego asleep in a chair. Well. That was that, then. He nibbled on a cold strip of leftover roast and sat down at the desk. The medical books seemed to call out to him, but they were supposed to be working on English, and he supposed someone ought to in case Don Alejandro asked how the lesson went.

English spelling was a nightmare. There was nothing for it but memorization: he picked the slate and began to copy out prepositions from the book. Reading them was easy. Remembering the general shape of the word was...not too bad. Spelling-exactly-all those random letters dropped in the middle was another matter entirely. What kind of word was 'through' anyway? What could they have been thinking?

After a couple of hours Diego awoke suddenly, sitting up and looking around with an anxious expression that Felipe didn't like at all. He set the slate down and asked, "bad?"

Diego pressed his lips together and nodded. Taking slow, deep breaths, he gripped the arms of the chair.

Felipe stood up. Diego glanced at Gilberto's sleeping form and signed for quiet. Felipe nodded. He opened the desk drawer and withdrew the brown bottle of valerian tincture. Turning so Diego could watch, he counted out nine drops into one of the glasses of juice he'd brought in earlier. He handed Diego the glass and retrieved the little notebook to record the current experiment.

Trial and error. As far as Felipe could tell, so far valerian hadn't reduced either severity or duration of Diego's attacks. A disappointment: they were searching for a sedative that would slow the heart but not hamper his breathing or attention.

As quietly as he could, Felipe lifted the desk chair over beside the armchair and sat down. He took one of Diego's hands in his own and prepared to wait. Maybe the valerian was working after all; the strain didn't seem to be getting any worse. Maybe. Maybe.

In a few minutes, though, it was clear it wasn't getting any better, either. Diego was sweating a little, and tense. Not for the first time, Felipe wished he could recite poetry. Or sing. Or read aloud. Or tell stories. Diego lowered his eyelids and turned his face slightly away: a little afraid and trying to conceal it.

Felipe took his hand back. It was damp from sweat. "Long, long ago, there was a pretty girl. She liked to pick flowers in the meadow. One day-" a bit late it occurred to Felipe that classical mythology didn't lend itself well to his manual vocabulary, but there was nothing for it but to continue on "-the king of under ground saw her picking flowers. He thought she was beautiful, and he snatched her away."

Diego's eyes were fastened on Felipe's hands now. He nodded once.

"He took her to his kingdom and made her a queen. But her mother came looking for her and did not find her in the meadow." Felipe wasn't used to such long speeches, except maybe for history or philosophy lessons-neither of which needed to be particularly poetic. Diego was paying close attention, though, so he tried harder. "She searched over the whole world, asking if anyone had seen her child, but no one had seen anything. She grieved and raged, and the earth grew bare and empty with her sadness."

Felipe had finished with the story of Persephone and gotten halfway through Cupid and Psyche (Psyche was negotiating with the ants) when Diego let himself slowly lean sideways against the arm of the chair.

Felipe abandoned the story. "Better?" he asked.

Diego nodded unsteadily. Felipe handed him the juice that would have been Gilberto's. Silently as he could, he slipped around to the pitcher and basin and soaked a flannel. Diego accepted it gratefully and wiped his face. "Thank you," he whispered.

Felipe twined his fingers around Diego's wrist. The flutter was weak, but not as bad as it usually was following one of these. He smiled reassuringly and rubbed Diego's shoulder.

Diego signed a weary "thank you," and closed his eyes. "It was lovely," he added after a moment.

When he was asleep, Felipe went to the bedroom door and propped it open. He looked with disinterest at the English books, and then took out the Latin anatomy. It was only another hour or so before the twins' father came home. When he leaned through the doorway, Felipe made a lowering gesture and added, "sleeping."

Softly, Don Alejandro slipped through the sitting room until he could see Diego, still asleep in the chair. "Bad day?" he asked in his inelegant sign.

Felipe shrugged and answered as simply as possible. "Sick. A little. Not for long."

Don Alejandro shook his head sadly. His eyes fell on the bed, where Gilbert was still sleeping. He turned curiously to Felipe.

"It's boring, watching him sleep," Felipe shrugged. The deception was so small and so near the truth that it hardly felt like lying.

Don Alejandro watched the twins for a long time before turning away. He left without saying anything else.

When Felipe woke them for supper, Diego followed his brother back to his own room to change into something more presentable, quietly reporting what he'd learned at the mission. Gilberto said nothing until the story was finished, and then he nodded. "I think you're right. This is too good an opportunity to miss."

"What is?" Felipe asked impatiently.

Gilberto, in the act of putting on his jacket, paused to roll his eyes, as though he simply could not believe how anyone could be so dense. "I'll follow him to the jewel's hiding place, of course."

"What if it isn't here? What if he didn't do it? What if you chase him all night and nothing happens?"

"I don't know. Do you want to gloat if we're wrong? If he tries to leave the territory...I'll tie him up and leave him somewhere. Much less hospitable than the mission, but still better than Ramone. Unless he's found our toy, of course. Either way, we'll work it out." He didn't look at all worried, the arrogant arse.

Diego looked worried enough for both of them anyway. "I'm sure you have a few hours yet-it wouldn't be safe to free Montez until the neophytes are asleep."

"Time enough to search Ramone's office first? Maybe not. Hmmm. Maybe after."

"Too bad you can't send me to do it."

Perhaps he meant it as a joke, but the silence that followed was not at all amused. Gilberto stopped fussing with his cravat and turned to Felipe. "Not for a single minute."

"Absolutely not," Felipe vowed. "Not even in the privy."

"Now really," Diego said. "I wasn't proposing doing it."

Gilberto ignored him. "Not for a single minute," he repeated.

"I _have_ noticed that I'm an invalid," Diego said acidly.

Gilberto snapped something-French? Russian?-Felipe didn't understand-and was probably very rude-and continued, "Don't do this, not now. I know you're frustrated. And I know you're bored. But guess what-I'm delighted that you feel strong enough to_ be_ bored."

"You don't need to be patronizing about it. I am aware-"

Felipe tapped his shoulder. "He does. Sort of. He can't help it."

Gilberto hooted with amusement and went back to fixing his cravat. Diego closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I apologize," he said.

Z

Felipe paid close attention to the gossip in the kitchen at supper. No one mentioned the soldiers finding a spectacularly huge emerald buried by the crossroads, and that was the kind of news that would get around pretty quickly. There was some good news, though: although it was still very hot, the rain in the mountains had Oak Creek running at a trickle and the Two Willows watering hole was starting to get muddy.

After supper Diego and Gilberto made themselves unbearably boring by involving themselves in some complicated and obscure engineering problem. When Don Alejandro went off to work on the books, Gilberto slipped away behind the fireplace and Diego asked for a short walk. It was nearly dark, but they walked slowly out the back and down through the kitchen garden. This late in the season, there wasn't much left of it, especially with things being so dry. Any other year it would be time to plant the fall spinach and garlic and beets.

Diego gave him no trouble about going to bed. It was a good night, and they both slept through until Gilberto returned a couple of hours before dawn. Felipe wrapped himself in his blanket and padded after him around the corner into Diego's bed room.

The moon had passed behind the house, so it was very dark. Gilberto was only a darker shadow as he found Diego's shoulder and gently shook him awake. "A present for you, Little Brother."

Muttering sleepily, Diego sat up and cleared his throat. "'Berto..."

"Hold out your hand. Here. Shame it is so dark. I had a good look at it by lamplight in the cave. It is magnificent. I can see why people believe this chunk of mineral performs miracles."

"You are incorrigible sometimes. At least you aren't saying this in church." Diego gasped audibly. "It's huge."

"Wait till you see it."

"Tell me everything."

He had slipped off to the cuartel first, searching for some sign that Ramone had taken their bait. Felipe wouldn't have bothered, but as it turned out Gilberto had been right o check. The fake jewel had been hidden in the secret drawer of the Alcalde's desk.

"Not the safe?" Diego asked.

"Well, that's too official, isn't it? He must have sworn the lancers to secrecy. If he planned to turn this over, he would have been gloating about how clever and dutiful he was finding it." He chuckled and patted Diego's shoulder. "Your little Victoria had it right from the beginning."

"I wish you wouldn't call her that-"

"Assuming the detachment gets here in a week or two, Montez should be safe enough in the Jail. Ramone has every inducement to act with...discretion."

"How did it go with Montez?"

Gilberto shrugged. "The good father must have released him at about half past one. He took off running. It was no trouble to follow him. Naturally, he was disappointed when I interrupted his travel after he retrieved the gem."

"And you are all right?"

"No, I'm tracking blood all over the house."

"Very funny."

"I just forgot to mention it. I'm absent-minded that way. Really, it's a wonder I can get my boots on the right feet."

"All right." Diego sighed. "I am very impressed. You were magnificent."

There was a short silence. "Yes. Well. I_ was_."

"You were."

"I should let you get back to sleep. Put this under your pillow, will you. I think, now that I've done the hard part, you can babysit the thing."

"Yes, all right, very funny. Go on to bed."

_~almost done now_


	12. Sept 9, 1813

**Sept 9, 1813**

As the morning haze was clearing the day was heating up. Diego seemed to be comfortable, though, seated at a table on the tavern porch. He was leaning back in the chair and his color was good. And he was alert enough to catch Felipe's appraising look and sigh.

Before he could say anything to Felipe about it, Victoria appeared with breakfast: eggs and sausage and tortillas and savory custard and atole. "This looks marvelous," Diego said, smiling winningly. "Thank you, Victoria. I know you were busy last night."

The evening before a detachment from Santa Barbara had arrived to collect Montez. Naturally, they'd enjoyed themselves at the tavern in the evening. Victoria chuckled and rolled her eyes. "I haven't seen a trace of them yet this morning. So much for an early start."

"Don't be too hard on them," Diego said. "It's a long, dull trip each way."

Felipe realized that the trip wasn't going to be as dull as the soldiers were expecting and he smothered a smile behind a bite of eggs.

"Don Diego, good morning! Felipe. Senorita Victoria." Cheerful and unhurried, Father Benitez was making his way across the porch. The look he gave Diego was subtle and swift. "No, don't get up. I was thinking of joining you."

Victoria straightened a bit at that: Father Raphael had disapproved of women owning businesses, even when forced to it by necessity. He'd also disapproved of the 'worldly behavior' like gambling that tended to go on in public houses. He and Victoria had had a cordially distant relationship. "Would you like some breakfast, Father?" She asked.

"Yes, thank you. I've sent Carlito and Guillermo on an errand to San Juan, and I was feeling a bit lonely." He sat down squarely between Diego and Felipe. He smiled serenely.

For the last week or so he had been particularly serene. Ever since the morning after Zorro had returned Montez to the cuartel, he'd been-well, he was always relaxed and cheerful and pleasant-but somehow he was _more_.

The day after Zorro had spent the night running around after Montez and relieving him of his treasure and delivering him like a name-day present to the alcalde, Diego had gotten up early and taken Felipe into the pueblo. They had arrived to find Luis Ramone and Father Benitez courteously squared off in the churchyard. Both of them were grave and polite, but the alcalde had his hand on his sword and the priest was holding his rosary very tightly.

Diego approached casually, and before Ramone glanced in his direction sighed - subtly, as though he were batting away a fly - "noting to fear" to his friend.

Father Benitez blinked once in surprise and took half a step backwards.

Diego greeted the alcalde blandly. The alcalde, as always, was cheerful and condescending. He was handsome and he smelled good and he _smiled_, and you wouldn't know, looking at him, that he was a thief and a liar and he enjoyed whipping people. Felipe kept his head down and tried not to shiver.

The alcalde gloated a little about having his prisoner back. He shook his head - politely - at Father Benitez for believing that the mission could adequately contain a prisoner.

For his part, the priest accepted the indirect criticism placidly. Pleased, the alcalde took his leave...and Diego and Father Benitez spent ten minutes talking about the weather.

Diego had been in town frequently in the days since, keeping an eye on things. He chatted with Victoria, ordered a new set of boots at the tannery, joined Mendoza for lunch, brought a stack of blankets to the church for the poor, or simply came in with the water wagon...

He seemed completely patient, but Felipe got more nervous as the days went on. Was Montez going to wait in the cuartel forever? And Diego was coming to town even on days he wasn't feeling particularly strong. What would happen if he had a bad spell in the pueblo? It hadn't happened yet but it could. It would, surely, sooner or later.

The arrival of the detachment of Royal Lancers the day before had been a tremendous relief. This would be the end at last.

Any minute now, if they would just get out of bed and claim their damn prisoner.

Felipe wondered if he'd need to confess thinking a profanity. He kept his eye on his breakfast and ate. He was seated facing north. If he looked up, he might see a figure on horseback in the distance...

Father Benitez laid a hand on his arm. "Felipe? Are you ill, child?"

Felipe shook his head. "No. Sir. Worried. I haven't finished my homework." And that was true. There'd been no progress on the still in weeks. And while he could read in English a little, he still couldn't follow a simple conversation in it, not if his life depended on it. He was keeping up with his history and philosophy, but while he was doing the work, the quality wasn't good.

"My fault, I'm afraid," Diego said smoothly. "Between one thing and another I've kept him very busy lately. And he is too good to complain."

There was no good answer to that, so Felipe kept his eyes on his food-

The cuartel gates opened and a couple of privates led out a string of saddle horses and a mule cart. This was it, then. Just a few minutes now.

Felipe realized his plate was empty. When had he eaten all that food?

Montez was led out, his hands chained. One of the corporals locked the chains to a metal hook on the cart. The short line of people that was still waiting a turn at the fountain watched with interest. Ramone and the detachment's lieutenant came out of the office, talking amiably enough.

"Too bad the holy gem was never recovered," Father Benitez reflected, watching the soldiers mount up.

"I imagine the people of Santa Barbara are feeling the loss," Diego said sadly. He took a swallow of atole.

Toronado thundered into the square and danced to a stop a few yards from Ramone and the lieutenant. Mendoza, just coming out of the gate, nearly tripped over his own feet in shock. "It's Zorro!" he shouted.

Zorro grinned at this and touched his hat. Then he called, "Catch!" and tossed something green and glistening into the air. Reflexively, the lieutenant's hand snapped up. He gaped at the emrald, then held it up. In the early light it gleamed and sparkled. For a long moment people seemed to be too interested in the stone to even remember Zorro. "Lieutenant!" Zorro seemed to be speaking to the crowd as much as to the officer, "I trust you can see this is safely returned home? Leonardo Montez helped me retrieve it."

Gaping, snarling, Ramone made a grab for the stone, but the lieutenant stepped back and held it up to be viewed by the men standing behind them. The soldiers gave a startled and ragged cheer.

Zorro nudged Toronado two steps to the side and leaned down to whisper something in Ramone's ear. Ramone swung at him in answer, but missed. Toronado danced backward, reared, and took off for the edge of town like a ball shot out of a musket.

"That is _Zorro_!" Mendoza shouted, still sounding shocked. "Get him!" But his own men weren't mounted-only a couple were even in the plaza-and the black horse was already fifty yards away and speeding up.

Laughing, the visiting lieutenant asked, "Do you normally chase after people who return stolen property?" He caught sight of Father Benitez and strode to the tavern porch to ask for a blessing. "I think with the responsibility of this priceless treasure, I could surely use help from above."

Felipe realized he'd been holding his breath. He tried breathing again and rubbed his sweaty palms on his knees. Gilberto had made it in and out alive.

Father Benitez led the entire crowd in a prayer of thanksgiving. He asked for mercy for the thief who had seen the error in his ways and helped return his ill-gotten gains, protection for the brave and hardworking soldiers transporting their prisoner and the holy treasure home, and a blessing on Zorro, who had done such a service for the Church and for the pious people of Santa Barbara.

Perhaps that last was going a bit far, because Ramone, who had been visibly angry and affronted when the prayer started, was nearly incandescent with rage when it ended. He stalked back and forth while the detachment mounted up and road out. The last rider had barely passed the town sign when he turned his wrath on Mendoza:

"We had that brigand in our grasp and as usual you bungled it!"

"Sir, I admit-"

"He was right here, in broad daylight, and you just watched him ride away! Since you cannot manage to protect this pueblo any other way, you can spend the rest of the day on guard in the plaza in full dress uniform."

Diego returned to the table on the tavern porch, sedately watching everything: the farmers getting water at the fountain, Ramone sending out squads of lancers to search for Zorro, Mendoza taking up a post across from the cuartel gate.

Victoria flitted about like a happy little bird, chirping about the wonders of Zorro. Diego nodded in all the right places and never sighed when she was looking.

Jose Macias came into town with a broken wagon axel for the blacksmith. He stopped to have lunch with Diego. Felipe was surprised that they had stayed that long, but Diego showed no interest in going home. When the tavern shut for afternoon siesta, Victoria came outside with a pitcher of orange juice and a chess board. "Your father says you are very good," she said by way of challenge.

They played for an hour. Badly. Felipe wouldn't have put it past them to be trying to let each other win-they were both such twits when it came to one another-but he had the feeling they weren't actually paying attention to the game. They hardly looked up from the board, but they barely seemed to see it...

It made for a dull game to watch, but there wasn't much else to look at either. The clouds rolling in from the west were uniformly grey. The plaza was empty except for Mendoza, standing motionless across from the cuartel. Felipe watered the horses and checked the gig, which passed almost ten minutes. He wished he'd brought a book, but really, how could he have guessed that Diego would spend the day in town doing nothing at all?

Diego finally won the game-pretty much by accident, as far as Felipe could tell. Silently, they reset the board and began again. Felipe realized he was starting to get nervous, though he couldn't have said why.

They played another dull, absent-minded game, moving pawns around almost randomly. Felipe was starting to wonder if they were using the pieces to communicate in some kind of code when Diego abruptly sat back, glanced at the sky, and looked pointedly at Mendoza still standing in the plaza. Although there was no wind, Mendoza swayed slightly.

Victoria folded her hands and dropped her eyes. Felipe saw her whisper, "There is nothing we can do that won't make it worse."

"He's gone too far," Diego answered without looking up. "He _needs_ Mendoza. I was sure he would remember that by now."

Biting her lip, Victoria glanced at the plaza. "It is not his fault," she said sadly.

Diego stood up, went to the edge of the porch, and looked up at the sky. When he turned back, he wasn't smiling, but something in his eyes said that he was thinking about it. Felipe's nervousness was slowly edging toward panic. Diego was up to something. He would have seen the signs before, but he was up to it with _Victoria_ rather than Gilberto, and Felipe had not expected that.

Possibly, he had been counting on Victoria's presence to keep him out of trouble.

Diego went into the tavern and came out with a tumbler of water.

Victoria took a deep breath and stood up. She came to Felipe, took him by the arm, and sat him at Diego's place for the chess game. Her hand was sweating. Of course, it was a hot day, so that might not mean anything.

Then Felipe realized that while her head was bowed over the board, her eyes were on Diego crossing the plaza.

Diego stopped directly in front of Mendoza, who glanced around furtively and took the water. He'd gotten it only half way to his lips when the alcalde stormed out of his office. "Mendoza!"

The glass of water dropped and broke on the hard ground.

"So. Don Diego, now you're interfering with the running of my garrison?"

Diego smiled pleasantly. "Not at all, Alcalde. I was expressing my patriotic support for the King's lancers in the zealous pursuit of their duty. " He glanced upwards and then inclined his had apologetically to Mendoza. "Sergeant, don't worry. Soon you'll get all the relief you need." He turned back toward the tavern.

"I gave orders that there will be no relief for Mendoza!"

Over his shoulder, Diego drawled, "Even your orders may be countermanded by a higher authority."

"There _is_ no higher authority. I am the alcalde. I am the _supreme_ authority."

A cool wind rolled across the plaza, kicking dust before it. A shadow, rapidly deepening, fell over the pueblo. The first drops of rain fell just as Diego was stepping onto the tavern porch. "Not quite supreme," he said to Victoria, taking the chair that had originally been Felipe's.

A stuttering flash of lightning painted the buildings in harsh outlines three distinct times and the thunder that came with it was loud enough that Felipe could hear as well as feel it. The wind shifted slightly, spraying the three of them with icy rain. "Do you want to go in?" Felipe asked.

Diego stretched backward, breathing deeply. "In a little while," he sighed. "Not just yet."

~End


End file.
